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t 

i 


LINCOLN 


[HE  LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

ONIYERSIIY  OF  ILLINOIS 


Statue  by  Augustus  St.  Gaudens,  Lincoln  Park,  Chicago 


LINCOLN 


An  Account  of  His  Personal  Life,  Especially 
of  Its  Springs  of  Action  as  Revealed  and 
Deepened  by  the  Ordeal  of  War 


BY 

NATHANIEL  WRIGHT  STEPHENSON 


Author  of 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Union,  Etc. 


m 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1922 

By  The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  & CO. 
BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 
BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


‘?73.  1LU3 

B Sx  4-i 


To 

Allen  Johnson 


Authority  for  all  important  statements  of  facts  in  the 
following  pages  may  he  found  in  the  notes;  the  condensed 
references  are  expanded  in  the  bibliography.  A few  con- 
troversial matters  are  discussed  in  the  notes. 

I am  very  grateful  to  Mr.  William  Roscoe  Thayer  for 
enabling  me  to  use  the  manuscript  diary  of  John  Hay.  Miss 
Helen  Nicolay  has  graciously  confirmed  some  of  the  implica- 
tions of  the  official  biography.  Lincoln's  only  surviving 
secretary,  Colonel  W.  0.  Stoddard,  has  given  considerate 
aid.  The  curious  incident  of  Lincoln  as  counsel  in  aii 
action  to  recover  slaves  was  mentioned  to  me  by  Professor 
Henry  Johnson,  through  whose  good  offices  it  was  con- 
firmed and  amplified  by  Judge  John  H.  Marshall.  Mr. 
Henry  W.  Raymond  has  been  very  tolerant  of  a strangePs 
inquiries  zvith  regard  to  his  distinguished  father.  A futile 
attempt  to  discover  documentary  remains  of  the  Republican 
National  Committee  of  1864  has  made  it  possible,  through 
the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Clarence  B.  Miller,  at  least  to  assert 
that  there  is  nothing  of  importance  in  possession  of  the 
present  Committee.  A search  for  new  light  on  Chandler 
drew  forth  generous  assistance  from  Professor  Ulrich  B. 
Phillips,  Mr.  Floyd  B.  Streeter  and  Mr.  G.  B.  Krum. 
The  latter  caused  to  be  examined,  for  this  particular  pur- 
pose, the  Blair  manuscripts  in  the  Burton  Historical  Col- 
lection. Much  illumination  arose  out  of  a systematic  re- 
survey of  the  Congressional  Globe,  for  the  war  period,  in 
which  I had  the  stimulating  companionship  of  Professor 
John  L.  Hill,  reinforced  by  many  conversations  with  Pro- 
fessor Dixon  Ryan  Fox  and  Professor  David  Saville 
Muzzey.  At  the  heart  of  the  matter  is  the  resolute  criticism 


of  Mrs.  Stephenson  and  of  a long  enduring  friend,  President 
Harrison  Randolph. 

The  temper  of  the  historical  fraternity  is  such  that  any 
worker  in  any  field  is  always  under  a host  of  incidental 
obligations.  There  is  especiaP propriety  in  my  acknowledg- 
ing the  kindness  of  Professor  Albert  Bushnell  Hart,  Pro- 
fessor Jaynes  A.  Woodhurn,  Professor  Herman  V.  Ames, 
Professor  St.  George  L.  Sioussat  and  Professor  Allen 
Johnson. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  page 

FOUNDATIONS 

I The  Child  of  the  Forest i 

II  The  Mysterious  Youth Ii 

III  A Village  Leader 19 

IV  Revelations 29 

V Prosperity  43 

VI  Unsatisfying  Recognition  . ...  52 

PROMISES 

VII  The  Second  Start 61 

VIII  A Return  to  Politics 72 

IX  The  Literary  Statesman 82 

X The  Dark  Horse 91 

XI  Secession 98 

XII  The  Crisis 109 

XIII  Eclipse 116 

CONFUSIONS 

XIV  The  Strange  New  Man 127 

XV  President  and  Premier 140  ^ 

XVI  ''On  to  Richmond!” 168 

XVII  Defining  the  Issue 176 

XVIII  The  Jacobin  Club 188 

XIX  The  Jacobins  Become  Inquisitors  . . 200 

XX  Is  Congress  the  President's  Master?  . 212 

XXI  The  Struggle  to  Control  the  Army  . 221 

XXII  Lincoln  Emerges 244 


CONTENTS— 


CHAPTEK  PAGE 

AUDACITIES 

XXIII  The  Mystical  Statesman 261 

XXIV  Gambling  in  Generals 269 

XXV  A War  behind  the  Scenes  ....  280 

XXVI  The  Dictator,  the  Marplot,  and  the 

Little  Men 297 

XXVII  The  Tribune  of  the  People  ....  312 

XXVIII  Apparent  Ascendency 330 

XXIX  Catastrophe 336 


XXX  The  President  versus  the  Vindictives  348 


VICTORY 

XXXI  A Menacing  Pause 355 

XXXII  The  August  Conspiracy 369 

XXXIII  The  Rally  to  the  President  . . . 379 

XXXIV  "Tather  Abraham” 389 

XXXV  The  Master  of  the  Moment  ....  395 

XXXVI  Preparing  a Different  War  ....  407 

XXXVII  Fate  Interposes 415 

Bibliography  4^5 

Notes 433 

Index 463 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Statue  by  Augustus  St.  Gaudens, 

Lincoln  Park,  Chicago  ....  Frontispiece 

Earliest  Portrait  of  Lincoln, 

Age  Thirty-Nine Facing  page  40 

Mary  Todd  Lincoln “ 130 

Lincoln  and  Tad “ 210 

Review  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 

Falmouth,  Va.,  April,  1863  * . . “ 294 

The  Last  Phase  of  Lincoln  . . . . “ “ 384 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  author  and  publisher  make  grateful  acknowledgment 
to  Ginn  and  Company,  Boston,  for  the  photograph  of  St. 
Gaudens'  Statue;  to  The  Century  Company  of  New  York 
for  the  Earliest  Portrait  of  Lincoln,  which  is  from  an  en- 
graving by  Johnson  after  a daguerreotype  in  the  possession 
of  the  Honorable  Robert  T.  Lincoln;  and  for  Lincoln  and 
Tad,  which  is  from  the  famous  photograph  by  Brady;  to 
The  Macmillan  Company  of  New  York  for  the  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Lincoln  and  also  for  The  Review  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  both  of  which  were  originally  reproduced  in  Ida 
M.  Tarbell’s  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  For  the  rare  and 
interesting  portrait  entitled  The  Last  Phase  of  Lincoln  ac- 
knowledgment is  made  to  Robert  Bruce,  Esquire,  Clinton, 
Oneida  County,  New  York.  This  photograph  was  taken  by 
Alexander  Gardner,  April  9,  1865,  the  glass  plate  of  which 
is  now  in  Mr.  Bruce^s  collection. 


FOUNDATIONS 


LINCOLN 


I 

THE  CHILD  OF  THE  FOREST 

Of  first  importance  in  the  making  of  the  American 
people  is  that  great  forest  which  once  extended  its  mysteri- 
ous labyrinth  from  tide-water  to  the  prairies.  When  the 
earliest  colonists  entered  warily  its  sea-worn  edges  a portion 
of  the  European  race  came  again  under  a spell  it  had  for- 
gotten centuries  before,  the  spell  of  that  untamed  nature 
which  created  primitive  man.  All  the  dim  memories  that 
lay  deep  in  subconsciousness ; all  the  vague  shadows  hover- 
ing at  the  back  of  the  civilized  mind;  the  sense  of  encom- 
passing natural  power,  the  need  to  struggle  single-handed 
against  it;  the  danger  lurking  in  the  darkness  of  the  for- 
est; the  brilliant  treachery  of  the  forest  sunshine  glinted 
through  leafy  secrecies;  the  strange  voices  in  its  illimitable 
murmur;  the  ghostly  shimmer  of  its  glades  at  night;  the 
lovely  beauty  of  the  great  gold  moon;  all  the  thousand 
wondering  dreams  that  evolved  the  elder  gods,  Pan,  Cybele, 
Thor ; all  this  waked  again  in  the  soul  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
penetrating  the  great  forest.  And  it  was  intensified  by  the 
way  he  came, — singly,  or  with  but  wife  and  child,  or  at 
best  in  very  small  company,  a mere  handful.  And  the 
surrounding  presences  were  not  only  of  the  spiritual  world. 

1 


2 


LINCOLN 


Human  enemies  who  were  soon  as  well  armed  as  he,  quicker 
of  foot  and  eye,  more  perfectly  noiseless  in  their  tread 
even  than  the  wild  beasts  of  the  shadowy  coverts,  the  ruth- 
less Indians  whom  he  came  to  expel,  these  invisible  pres- 
ences were  watching  him,  in  a fierce  silence  he  knew  not 
whence.  Like  as  not  the  first  signs  of  that  menace  which 
was  everywhere  would  be  the  hiss  of  the  Indian  arrow,  or 
the  crack  of  the  Indian  ride,  and  sharp  and  sudden  death. 

Under  these  conditions  he  learned  much  and  forgot 
much.  His  deadly  need  made  him  both  more  and  less  in- 
dividual than  he  had  been,  released  him  from  the  dictation 
of  his  fellows  in  daily  life  while  it  enforced  relentlessly  a 
uniform  method  of  self-preservation.  Though  the  unseen 
world  became  more  and  more  real,  the  understanding  of 
it  faded.  It  became  chiefly  a matter  of  emotional  percep- 
tion, scarcely  at  all  a matter  of  philosophy.  The  morals 
of  the  forest  Americans  were  those  of  audacious,  visionary 
beings  loosely  bound  together  by  a comradeship  in  peril. 
Courage,  cautiousness,  swiftness,  endurance,  faithfulness, 
secrecy, — these  were  the  forest  virtues.  Dreaming,  com- 
panionship, humor, — these  were  the  forest  luxuries. 

From  the  first,  all  sorts  and  conditions  were  ensnared 
by  that  silent  land,  where  the  trails  they  followed,  their 
rifles  in  their  hands,  had  been  trodden  hard  generation 
after  generation  by  the  feet  of  the  Indian  warriors.  The 
best  and  the  worst  of  England  went  into  that  illimitable 
resolvent,  lost  themselves,  found  themselves,  and  issued 
from  its  shadows,  or  their  children  did,  changed  both  for 
good  and  ill,  Americans.  Meanwhile  the  great  forest,  dur- 
ing  two  hundred  years,  was  slowly  vanishing.  This  parent 
of  a new  people  gave  its  life  to  its  offspring  and  passed 
away.  In  the  early  nineteenth  century  it  had  withered 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  FOREST 


3 


backward  far  from  the  coast;  had  lost  its  identity  all  along 
the  north  end  of  the  eastern  mountains;  had  frayed  out 
toward  the  sunset  intO'  lingering  tentacles,  into  broken 
minor  forests,  into  shreds  and  patches. 

Curiously,  by  a queer  sort  of  natural  selection,  its  people 
had  congregated  into  little  communities  not  all  of  one 
pattern.  There  were  places  as  early  as  the  beginning  of 
the  century  where  distinction  had  appeared.  At  other  places 
life  was  as  rude  and  rough  as  could  be  imagined.  There 
were  innumerable  farms  that  were  still  mere  ‘‘clearings,’’ 
walled  by  the  forest.  But  there  were  other  regions  where 
for  many  a mile  the  timber  had  been  hewn  away,  had 
given  place  to  a ragged  continuity  of  farmland.  In  such 
regions — especially  if  the  poorer  elements  of  the  forest, 
spiritually  speaking,  had  drifted  thither — the  straggling  vil- 
lages which  had  appeared  were  but  groups  of  log  cabins 
huddled  along  a few  neglected  lanes.  In  central  Kentucky, 
a poor  new  village  was  Elizabethtown,  unkempt,  chok- 
ingly dusty  in  the  dry  weather,  with  muddy  streams  instead 
of  streets  during  the  rains,  a stench  of  pig-sties  at  the  back 
of  its  cabins,  but  everywhere  looking  outward  glimpses  of 
a lovely  meadow  land. 

At  Elizabethtown  in  1806  lived  Joseph  Hanks,  a car- 
penter, also  his  niece  Nancy  Hanks.  Poor  people  they 
were,  of  the  sort  that  had  been  sucked  into  the  forest  in 
their  wealmess,  or  had  been  pushed  into  it  by  a social  pres- 
sure they  could  not  resist;  not  the  sort  that  had  grimly 
adventured  its  perils  or  gaily  courted  its  lure.  Their  source 
was  Virginia.  They  were  of  a thriftless,  unstable  class; 
that  vagrant  peasantry  which  had  drifted  westward  to  avoid 
competition  with  slave  labor.  The  niece,  Nancy,  has  been 
reputed  illegitimate.  And  though  tradition  derives  her 


4 


LINCOLN 


from  the  predatory  amour  of  an  aristocrat,  there  is  nothing 
to  sustain  the  tale  except  her  own  appearance.  She  had  a 
bearing,  a cast  of  feature,  a tone,  that  seemed  to  hint  at 
higher  social  origins  than  those  of  her  Hanks  relatives. 
She  had  a little  schooling;  was  of  a pious  and  emotional 
turn  of  mind;  enjoyed  those  amazing  ‘"revivals”  which  now 
and  then  gave  an  outlet  to  the  pent-up  religiosity  of  the 
village;  and  she  was  almost  handsome.^ 

History  has  preserved  no  clue  why  this  girl  who  was 
rather  the  best  of  her  sort  chose  to  marry  an  illiterate 
apprentice  of  her  uncle’s,  Thomas  Lincoln,  whose  name  in 
the  forest  was  spelled  “Linkhorn.”  He  was  a shiftless 
fellow,  never  succeeding  at  anything,  who  could  neither  read 
nor  write.  At  the  time  of  his  birth,  twenty-eight  years 
before,  his  parents — drifting,  roaming  people,  struggling 
with  poverty — were  dwellers  in  the  Virginia  mountains.  As 
a mere  lad,  he  had  shot  an  Indian — one  of  the  few  positive 
acts  attributed  to  him — and  his  father  had  been  killed  by 
Indians.  There  was  a “vague  tradition”  that  his  grand- 
father had  been  a Pennsylvania  Quaker  who  had  wandered 
southward  through  the  forest  mountains.  The  tradition 
angered  him.  Though  he  appears  to  have  had  little  enough 
— at  least  in  later  years — of  the  fierce  independence  of  the 
forest,  he  resented  a Quaker  ancestry  as  an  insult.  He  had 
no  suspicion  that  in  after  years  the  zeal  of  genealogists 
would  track  his  descent  until  they  had  linked  him  with  a 
lost  member  of  a distinguished  Puritan  family,  a certain 
Mordecai  Lincoln  who  removed  to  New  Jersey,  whose 
descendants  became  wanderers  of  the  forest  and  sank 
speedily  to  the  bottom  of  the  social  scale,  retaining  not  the 
slightest  memory  of  their  New  England  origin.^ 

Even  in  the  worst  of  the  forest  villages,  few  couples 


/ 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  FOREST  5 

started  married  life  in  less  auspicious  circumstances  than 
did  Nancy  and  Thomas.  Their  home  in  one  of  the  alleys 
of  Elizabethtown  was  a shanty  fourteen  feet  square.^ 
Very  soon  after  marriage,  shiftless  Thomas  gave  up  car- 
pentering and  took  to  farming.  Land  could  be  had  almost 
anywhere  for  almost  nothing  those  days,  and  Thomas  got 
a farm  on  credit  near  where  now  stands  Hodgenville.  To- 
day, it  is  a famous  place,  for  there,  February  12,  1809, 
Abraham  Lincoln,  second  child,  but  first  son  of  Nancy  and 
Thomas,  was  bom.^ 

During  most  of  eight  years,  Abraham  lived  in  Kentucky. 
His  father,  always  adrift  in  heart,  tried  two  farms  before 
abandoning  Kentucky  altogether.  A shadowy  figure,  this 
Thomas;  the  few  memories  of  him  suggest  a superstitious 
nature  in  a superstitious  community.  He  used  to  see  visions 
in  the  forest.  Once,  it  is  said,  he  came  home,  all  excite- 
ment, to  tell  his  wife  he  had  seen  a giant  riding  on  a lion, 
tearing  up  trees  by  the  roots;  and  thereupon,  he  took  to 
his  bed  and  kept  it  for  several  days. 

His  son  Abraham  told  this  story  of  the  giant  on  the 
lion  to  a playmate  of  his,  and  the  two  boys  gravely  dis- 
cussed the  existence  of  ghosts.  Abraham  thought  his  father 
‘‘didn’t  exactly  believe  in  them,”  and  seems  to  have  been 
in  about  the  same  state  of  mind  himself.  He  was  quite 
sure  he  was  “not  much”  afraid  of  the  dark.  This  was  due 
chiefly  to  the  simple  wisdom  of  a good  woman,  a neigh- 
bor, who  had  taught  him  to  think  of  the  night  as  a great 
room  that  God  had  darkened  even  as  his  friend  darkened 
a room  in  her  house  by  hanging  something  over  the  win- 
dow.^ 

The  eight  years  of  his  childhood  in  Kentucky  had  few 
incidents.  A hard,  patient,  uncomplaining  life  both  for  old 


6 


LINCOLN 


and  young.  The  men  found  their  one  deep  joy  in  the  hunt. 
In  lesser  degree,  they  enjoyed  the  revivals  which  gave  to 
the  women  their  one  escape  out  of  themselves.  A strange, 
almost  terrible  recovery  of  the  primitive,  were  those  re- 
ligious furies  of  the  days  before  the  great  forest  had  dis- 
appeared. What  other  figures  in  our  history  are  quite  so 
remarkable  as  the  itinerant  frontier  priests,  the  circuit- 
riders  as  they  are  now  called,  who  lived  as  Elijah  did, 
whose  temper  was  very  much  the  temper  of  Elijah,  in  whose 
exalted  narrowness  of  devotion,  all  that  was  stern,  dark, 
foreboding — the  very  brood  of  the  forest’s  innermost  heart 
— had  found  a voice.  Their  religion  was  ecstasy  in  home- 
spun,  a glory  of  violent  singing,  the  release  of  a frantic 
emotion,  formless  but  immeasurable,  which  at  all  other 
times,  in  the  severity  of  the  forest  routine,  gave  no  sign 
of  its  existence. 

A visitor  remembered  long  afterward  a handsome  young 
woman  who  he  thought  was  Nancy  Hanks,  singing  wildly, 
whirling  about  as  may  once  have  done  the  ecstatic  women 
of  the  woods  of  Thrace,  making  her  way  among  equally 
passionate  worshipers,  to  the  foot  of  the  rude  altar,  and 
there  casting  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  man  she  was  to 
marry.®  So  did  thousands  of  forest  women  in  those  sea- 
sons when  their  communion  with  a mystic  loneliness  was 
confessed,  when  they  gave  tongue  as  simply  as  wild  crea- 
tures to  the  nameless  stirrings  and  promptings  of  that  secret 
woodland  where  Pan  was  still  the  lord.  And  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  revival,  they  were  again  the  silent,  expressionless, 
much  enduring,  long-suffering  forest  wives,  mothers  of 
many  children,  toilers  of  the  cabins,  who  cooked  and  swept 
and  carried  fuel  by  sunlight,  and  by  firelight  sewed  and 
spun. 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  FOREST 


7 


It  can  easily  be  understood  how  these  women,  as  a rule, 
exerted  little  influence  on  their  sons.  Their  imaginative 
side  was  too  deeply  hidden,  the  nature  of  their  pleasures 
too  secret,  too  mysterious.  Male  youth,  following  its  ob- 
vious pleasure,  went  with  the  men  to  the  hunt.  The  women 
remained  outsiders.  The  boy  who  chose  to  do  likewise, 
was  the  incredible  exception.  In  him  had  come  to  a head' 
the  deepest  things  in  the  forest  life:  the  darkly  feminine 
things,  its  silence,  its  mysticism,  its  secretiveness,  its  tragic 
patience.  Abraham  was  such  a boy.  It  is  said  that  he 
astounded  his  father  by  refusing  to  own  a gun.  He  earned 
terrible  whippings  by  releasing  animals  caught  in  traps. 
Though  he  had  in  fullest  measure  the  forest  passion  for 
listening  to  stories,  the  ever-popular  tales  of  Indian  warfare 
disgusted  him.  But  let  the  tale  take  on  any  glint  of  the 
mystery  of  the  human  soul — as  of  Robinson  Crusoe  alone 
on  his  island,  or  of  the  lordliness  of  action,  as  in  Columbus 
or  Washington — and  he  was  quick  with  interest.  The 
stories  of  talking  animals  out  of  Aisop  fascinated  him. 

In  this  thrilled  curiosity  about  the  animals  was  the  side 
of  him  least  intelligible  to  men  like  his  father.  It  lives  in 
many  anecdotes:  of  his  friendship  with  a poor  dog  he  had 
which  he  called  “Honey”;  of  pursuing  a snake  through 
difficult  thickets  to  prevent  its  swallowing  a frog;  of  loiter- 
ing on  errands  at  the  risk  of  whippings  to  wafch  the  squir- 
rels in  the  tree-tops;  of  the  crowning  offense  of  his  child- 
hood, which  earned  him  a mighty  beating,  the  saving  of 
a fawn’s  life  by  scaring  it  off  just  as  a hunter’s  gun  was 
leveled.  And  by  way  of  comment  on  all  this,  there  is  the 
remark  preserved  in  the  memory  of  another  boy  to  whom 
at  the  time  it  appeared  most  singular,  “God  might  think  as 
much  of  that  little  fawn  as  of  some  people.”  Of  him  as 


8 


LINCOLN 


of  another  gentle  soul  it  might  have  been  said  that  all  the 
animals  were  his  brothers  and  sisters.'^ 

One  might  easily  imagine  this  peculiar  boy  who  chose  to 
remain  at  home  while  the  men  went  out  to  slay,  as  the  mere 
translation  into  masculinity  of  his  mother,  and  of  her 
mothers,  of  all  the  converging  processions  of  forest  women, 
who  had  passed  from  one  to  another  the  secret  of  their 
mysticism,  coloring  it  many  ways  in  the  dark  vessels  of 
their  suppressed  lives,  till  it  reached  at  last  their  concluding 
child.  But  this  would  only  in  part  explain  him.  Their 
mysticism,  as  after-time  was  to  show,  he  had  undoubtedly 
inherited.  So,  too,  from  them,  it  may  be,  came  another 
characteristic — that  instinct  to  endure,  to  wait,  to  abide  the 
issue  of  circumstance,  which  in  the  days  of  his  power  made 
him  to  the  politicians  as  unintelligible  as  once  he  had  been 
to  the  forest  huntsmen.  Nevertheless,  the  most  distinctive 
part  of  those  primitive  women,  the  sealed,  passionateness  of 
their  spirits,  he  never  from  childhood  to  the  end  revealed. 
In  the  grown  man  appeared  a quietude,  a sort  of  tranced 
calm,  that  was  appalling.  From  what  part  of  his  heredity 
did  this  derive?  Was  it  the  male  gift  of  the  forest?  Did 
progenitors  worthier  than  Thomas  somehow  cast  through 
him  to  his  alien  son  that  peace  they  had  found  in  the  utter 
heart  of  danger,  that  apparent  selflessness  which  is  born  of 
being  ever  unfailingly  on  guard? 

It  is  plain  that  from  the  first  he  was  a natural  stoic, 
taking  his  whippings,  of  which  there  appear  to  have  been 
plenty,  in  silence,  without  anger.  It  was  all  in  the  day’s 
round.  Whippings,  like  other  things,  came  and  went. 
What  did  it  matter?  And  the  daily  round,  though  monot- 
onous, had  even  for  the  child  a complement  of  labor. 
Especially  there  was  much  patient  journeying  back  and  forth 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  FOREST 


9 


with  meal  bags  between  his  father’s  cabin  and  the  local 
mill.  There  was  a little  schooling,  very  little,  partly  from 
Nancy  Lincoln,  partly  from  another  good  woman,  the 
miller’s  kind  old  mother,  partly  at  the  crudest  of  wayside 
schools  maintained  very  briefly  by  a wandering  teacher  who 
soon  wandered  on;  but  out  of  this  schooling  very  little 
result  beyond  the  mastery  of  the  ABC.®  And  even  at 
this  age,  a pathetic  eagerness  to  learn,  to  invade  the  wonder 
of  the  printed  book!  Also  a marked  keenness  of  observa- 
tion. He  observed  things  which  his  elders  overlooked.  He 
had  a better  sense  of  direction,  as  when  he  corrected  his 
father  and  others  who  were  taking  the  wrong  short-cut  to 
a burning  house.  Cool,  unexcitable,  he  was  capable  of  pres- 
ence of  mind.  Once  at  night  when  the  door  of  the  cabin 
was  suddenly  thrown  open  and  a monster  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  a spectral  thing  in  the  darkness,  furry,  with  the 
head  of  an  ox,  Thomas  Lincoln  shrank  back  aghast;  little 
Abraham,  quicker-sighted  and  quicker-witted,  slipped  be- 
hind the  creature,  pulled  at  its  furry  mantle,  and  revealed  a 
forest  Diana,  a bold  girl  who  amused  herself  playing  demon 
among  the  shadows  of  the  moon. 

Seven  years  passed  and  his  eighth  birthday  approached. 
All  this  while  Thomas  Lincoln  had  somehow  kept  his 
family  in  food,  but  never  had  he  money  in  his  pocket.  His 
successive  farms,  bought  on  credit,  were  never  paid  for. 
An  incurable  vagrant,  he  came  at  last  to  the  psychological 
moment  when  he  could  no  longer  impose  himself  on  his 
community.  He  must  take  to  the  road  in  a hazard  of  new 
fortune.  Indiana  appeared  to  him  the  land  of  promise. 
Most  of  his  property — such  as  it  was — except  his  car- 
penter’s tools,  he  traded  for  whisky,  four  hundred  gallons. 
Somehow  he  obtained  a rattletrap  wagon  and  two  horses. 


lO 


LINCOLN 


The  family  appear  to  have  been  loath  to  go.  Nancy  Lin- 
coln had  long  been  ailing  and  in  low  spirits,  thinking  much 
of  what  might  happen  to  her  children  after  her  death. 
Abraham  loved  the  country-side,  and  he  had  good  friends 
in  the  miller  and  his  kind  old  mother.  But  the  vagrant 
Thomas  would  have  his  way.  In  the  brilliancy  of  the 
Western  autumn,  with  the  ruined  woods  flaming  scarlet  and 
gold,  these  poor  people  took  their  last  look  at  the  cabin 
that  had  been  their  wretched  shelter,  and  set  forth  into 
the  world.^ 


II 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  YOUTH 

Vagrants,  or  little  better  than  vagrants,  were  Thomas 
Lincoln  and  his  family  making  their  way  to  Indiana,  For 
a year  after  they  arrived  they  were  squatters,  their  home 
an  ‘"open-faced  camp,”  that  is,  a shanty  with  one  wall  miss- 
ing, and  instead  of  chimney  a fire  built  on  the  open  side. 
In  that  mere  pretense  of  a house,  Nancy  Lincoln  and  her 
children  spent  the  winter  of  1816-1817.  Then  Thomas  re- 
sorted to  his  familiar  practice  of  taking  land  on  credit. 
The  Lincolns  were  now  part  of  a “settlement”  of  seven 
or  eight  families  strung  along  a little  stream  known  as 
Pigeon  Creek.  Here  Thomas  entered  a quarter-section  of 
fair  land,  and  in  the  course  of  the  next  eleven  years  suc- 
ceeded— wonderful  to  relate ! — in  paying  down  sufficient 
money  to  give  him  title  to  about  half. 

Meanwhile,  poor  fading  Nancy  went  to  her  place. 
Pigeon  Creek  was  an  out-of-the-way  nook  in  the  still  un- 
settled West,  and  Nancy  during  the  two  years  she  lived 
there  could  not  have  enjoyed  much  of  the  consolation  of 
her  religion.  Perhaps  now  and  then  she  had  ghostly  coun- 
cil of  some  stray  circuit-rider.  But  for  her  the  days  of  the 
ecstasies  had  gone  by;  no  great  revival  broke  the  seals  of 
the  spirit,  stirred  its  deep  waters,  along  Pigeon  Creek. 
There  was  no  religious  service  when  she  was  laid  to  rest  in 
a coffin  made  of  green  lumber  and  fashioned  by  her  hus- 
band. Months  passed,  the  snow  lay  deep,  before  a passing 

II 


12 


LINCOLN 


circuit-rider  held  a burial  service  over  her  grave.  Tradi- 
tion has  it  that  the  boy  Abraham  brought  this  about.  Very 
likely,  at  ten  years  old,  he  felt  that  her  troubled  spirit  could 
not  have  peace  till  this  was  done.  Shadowy  as  she  is, 
ghostlike  across  the  page  of  history,  it  is  plain  that  she  was 
a reality  to  her  son.  He  not  only  loved  her  but  revered 
her.  He  believed  that  from  her  he  had  inherited  the  better 
part  of  his  genius.  Many  years  after  her  death  he  said, 
“God  bless  my  mother;  all  that  I am  or  ever  hope  to  be  I 
owe  to  her.” 

Nancy  was  not  long  without  a successor.  Thomas  Lin- 
coln, the  next  year,  journeyed  back  to  Kentucky  and  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  Indiana,  bringing  as  his  wife,  an  old 
flame  of  his  who  had  married,  had  been  widowed,  and  was 
of  a mind  for  further  adventures.  This  Sarah  Bush  Lin- 
coln, of  less  distinction  than  Nancy,  appears  to  have  been 
steadier-minded  and  stronger-willed.  Even  before  this, 
Thomas  had  left  the  half-faced  camp  and  moved  into  a 
cabin.  But  such  a cabin ! It  had  neither  door,  nor  window, 
nor  floor.  Sally  Lincoln  required  her  husband  to  make  of 
it  a proper  house — by  the  standards  of  Pigeon  Creek.  She 
had  brought  with  her  as  her  dowry  a wagon-load  of  furni- 
ture. These  comforts  together  with  her  strong  will  began 
a new  era  of  relative  comfort  in  the  Lincoln  cabin. ^ 

Sally  Lincoln  was  a kind  stepmother  to  Abraham  who 
became  strongly  attached  to  her.  In  the  rough  and  nonde- 
script community  of  Pigeon  Creek,  a world  of  weedy  farms, 
of  miserable  mud  roads,  of  log  farm-houses,  the  family 
during  her  regime  emerged  from  wretchedness  to  a state  of 
life  that  was  at  least  tolerable.  The  sordid  misery  described 
by  all  the  recorders  of  Lincoln’s  early  days  seems  to  have 
ended  about  his  twelfth  year.  At  least,  the  vagrant  sugges- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  YOUTH 


13 


tion  disappeared.  Though  the  life  that  succeeded  was  void 
of  luxury,  though  it  was  rough,  even  brutal,  dominated  by 
a coarse,  peasant-like  view  of  things,  it  was  scarcely  by 
peasant  standards  a life  of  hardship.  There  was  food  suffi- 
cient, if  not  very  good;  protection  from  wind  and  weather; 
fire  in  the  winter  time;  steady  labor;  and  social  acceptance 
by  the  community  of  the  creekside.  That  the  labor  was 
hard  and  long,  went  without  saying.  But  as  to  that — as  of 
the  whippings  in  Kentucky — what  else,  from  the  peasant 
point  of  view,  would  you  expect?  Abraham  took  it  all  with 
the  same  stoicism  with  which  he  had  once  taken  the  whip- 
pings. By  the  unwritten  law  of  the  creekside  he  was  his 
father’s  property,  and  so  was  his  labor,  until  he  came  of 
age.  Thomas  used  him  as  a servant  or  hired  him  out  to 
other  farmers.  Stray  recollections  show  us  young  Abra- 
ham working  as  a farm-hand  for  twenty-five  cents  the  day, 
probably  with  “keep”  in  addition ; we  glimpse  him  slaughter- 
ing hogs  skilfully  at  thirty-one  cents  a day,  for  this  was 
“rough  work.”  He  became  noted  as  an  axman. 

In  the  crevices,  so  to  speak,  of  his  career  as  a farm- 
hand, Abraham  got  a few  months  of  schooling,  less  than 
a year  in  all.  A story  that  has  been  repeated  a thousand 
times  shows  the  raw  youth  by  the  cabin  fire  at  night  doing 
sums  on  the  back  of  a wooden  shovel,  and  shaving  off  its 
surface  repeatedly  to  get  a fresh  page.  He  devoured  every 
book  that  came  his  way,  only  a few  to  be  sure,  but  generally 
great  ones — the  Bible,  of  course,  and  ^sop,  Crusoe,  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  and  a few  histories,  these  last  unfortu- 
nately of  the  poorer  sort.  He  early  displayed  a bent  for 
composition,  scribbling  verses  that  were  very  poor,  and 
writing  burlesque  tales  about  his  acquaintances  in  what 
passed  for  a Biblical  style.^ 


14 


LINCOLN 


One  great  experience  broke  the  monotony  of  the  life 
on  Pigeon  Creek.  He  made  a trip  to  New  Orleans  as  a 
^‘hand”  on  a flatboat.  Of  this  trip  little  is  known  though 
much  may  be  surmised.  To  his  deeply  poetic  nature  what 
an  experience  it  must  have  been:  the  majesty  of  the  vast 
river;  the  pageant  of  its  immense  travel;  the  steamers 
heavily  laden;  the  fleets  of  barges;  the  many  towns;  the 
nights  of  stars  over  wide  sweeps  of  water;  the  stately 
plantation  houses  along  the  banks;  the  old  French  city  with 
its  crowds,  its  bells,  the  shipping,  the  strange  faces  and  the 
foreign  speech ; all  the  bewildering  evidence  that  there  were 
other  worlds  besides  Pigeon  Creek! 

What  seed  of  new  thinking  was  sown  in  his  imagination 
by  this  Odyssey  we  shall  never  know.  The  obvious  effect 
in  the  ten  years  of  his  life  in  Indiana  was  produced  at 
Pigeon  Creek.  The  “settlement”  was  within  fifteen  miles 
of  the  Ohio.  It  lay  in  that  southerly  fringe  of  Indiana 
which  received  early  in  the  century  many  families  of  much 
the  same  estate,  character  and  origin  as  the  Lincolns, — poor 
whites  of  the  edges  of  the  great  forest  working  outward 
toward  the  prairies.  Located  on  good  land  not  far  from 
a great  highway,  the  Ohio,  it  illustrated  in  its  rude  pros- 
perity a transformation  that  went  on  unobserved  in  many 
such  settlements,  the  transformation  of  the  wandering  for- 
ester of  the  lower  class  into  a peasant  farmer.  Its  life  was 
of  the  earth,  earthy;  though  it  retained  the  religious  tra- 
ditions of  the  forest,  their  significance  was  evaporating; 
mysticism  was  fading  into  emotionalism ; the  camp-meeting 
was  degenerating  into  a picnic.  The  supreme  social  event, 
the  wedding,  was  attended  by  festivities  that  filled  twenty- 
four  hours — a race  of  male  guests  in  the  forenoon  with  a 
bottle  of  whisky  for  a prize;  an  Homeric  dinner  at  midday; 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  YOUTH 


15 


afternoon  of  rough  games  and  outrageous  practical 
jokes;  a supper  and  dance  at  night  interrupted  by  the 
successive  withdrawals  of  the  bride  and  groom,  attended 
by  ceremonies  and  jests  of  more  than  Rabelaisian  crude- 
ness; and  a noisy  dispersal  next  day.’’^  The  intensities  of 
the  forest  survived  in  hard  drinking,  in  the  fury  of  the  fun- 
making, and  in  the  hunt.  The  forest  passion  for  story- 
telling had  in  no  way  decreased. 

In  this  atmosphere,  about  eighteen  and  nineteen,  Abra- 
ham shot  up  suddenly  from  a slender  boy  to  a huge,  raw- 
boned,  ungainly  man,  six  feet  four  inches  tall,  of  unusual 
muscular  strength.  His  strength  was  one  of  the  fixed  con- 
ditions of  his  development.  It  delivered  him  from  all  fear 
of  his  fellows.  He  had  plenty  of  peculiarities.  He  was 
ugly,  awkward;  he  lacked  the  wanton  appetites  of  the  aver- 
age sensual  man.  And  these  peculiarities  without  his  great 
strength  as  his  warrant  might  have  brought  him  into  ridicule. 
As  it  was,  whatever  his  peculiarities,  in  a society  like  that 
of  Pigeon  Creek,  the  man  who  could  beat  all  competitors, 
wrestling  or  boxing,  was  free  from  molestation.  But  Lin- 
coln instinctively  had  another  aim  in  life  than  mere  freedom 
to  be  himself.  Two  characteristics  that  were  so  significant 
in  his  childhood  continued  with  growing  vitality  in  his 
young  manhood : his  placidity  and  his  intense  sense  of  com- 
radeship. The  latter,  however,  had  undergone  a change. 
It  was  no  longer  the  comradeship  of  the  wild  creatures. 
That  spurt  of  physical  expansion,  the  swift  rank  growth 
to  his  tremendous  stature,  swept  him  apparently  across  a 
dim  dividing  line,  out  of  the  world  of  birds  and  beasts  and 
into  the  world  of  men.  He  took  the  new  world  with  the 
same  unfailing  but  also  unexcitable  curiosity  with  which  he 
had  taken  the  other,  the  world  of  squirrels,  flowers,  fawns. 


i6 


LINCOLN 


Here  as  there,  the  difference  from  his  mother,  deep 
though  their  similarities  may  have  been,  was  sharply  evi- 
dent. Had  he  been  wholly  at  one  with  her  religiously,  the 
gift  of  telling  speech  which  he  now  began  to  display  might 
have  led  him  into  a course  that  would  have  rejoiced  her 
heart,  might  have  made  him  a boy  preacher,  and  later,  a 
great  revivalist.  His  father  and  elder  sister  while  on  Pigeon 
Creek  joined  the  local  Baptist  Churcli.  But  Abraham  did 
not  follow  them.  Nor  is  there  a single  anecdote  linking 
him  in  any  way  with  the  fervors  of  camp-meeting.  On  the 
contrary,  what  little  is  remembered,  is  of  a cool  aloofness.'* 
The  inscrutability  of  the  forest  was^  his — what  it  gave  to 
the  stealthy,  cautious  men  who  were  too  intent  on  observing, 
too  suspiciously  watchful,  to  give  yent  to  their  feelings. 
Therefore,  in  Lincoln  there  was  always  a double  life,  outer 
and  inner,  the  outer  quietly  companionable,  the  inner,  soli- 
tary, mysterious. 

It  was  the  outer  life  that  assumed  its  first  definite  phase 
in  the  years  on  Pigeon  Creek.  During  those  years,  Lincoln 
discovered  his  gift  of  story-telling.  He  also  discovered 
humor.  In  the  employment  of  both  talents,  he  accepted  as 
a matter  of  course  the  tone  of  the  young  ruffians  among 
whom  he  dwelt.  Very  soon  this  powerful  fellow,  who 
could  throw  any  of  them  in  a wrestle,  won  the  central 
position  among  them  by  a surer  title,  by  the  power  to 
delight.  And  any  one  who  knows  how  peasant  schools  of 
art  arise — for  that  matter,  all  schools  of  art  that  are  vital — ■ 
knows  how  he  did  it.  In  this  connection,  his  famous  biog- 
raphers, Nicolay  and  Hay,  reveal  a certain  externality  by 
objecting  that  a story  attributed  to  him  is  ancient.  All 
stories  are  ancient.  Not  the  tale,  but  the  telling,  as  the 
proverb  says,  is  the  thing.  In  later  years,  Lincoln  wrote 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  YOUTH 


down  every  good  story  that  he  heard,  and  filed  it.®  When 
it  reappeared  it  had  become  his  own.  Who  can  doubt  that 
this  deliberate  assimilation,  the  typical  artistic  process, 
began  on  Pigeon  Creek?  Lincoln  never  would  have  cap- 
tured as  he  did  his  plowboy  audience,  set  them  roaring  with 
laughter  in  the  intervals  of  labor,  had  he  not  given  them 
back  their  own  tales  done  over  into  new  forms  brilliantly 
beyond  their  powers  of  conception.  That  these  tales  were 
gross,  even  ribald,  might  have  been  taken  for  granted,  even 
had  we  not  positive  evidence  of  the  fact.  Otherwise  none 
of  that  uproarious  laughter  which  we  may  be  sure  sounded 
often  across  shimmering  harvest  fields  while  stalwart  young 
pagans,  ever  ready  to  pause,  leaned,  bellowing,  on  the 
handles  of  their  scythes,  Abe  Lincoln  having  just  then 
finished  a story. 

Though  the  humor  of  these  stories  was  Falstaffian,  to 
say  the  least,  though  Lincoln  was  cock  of  the  walk  among 
the  plowboys  of  Pigeon  Creek,  a significant  fact  with  regard 
to  him  here  comes  into  view.  Not  an  anecdote  survives 
that  in  any  way  suggests  personal  licentiousness.  Scrupu- 
lous men  who  in  after-time  were  offended  by  his  coarseness 
of  speech — for  more  or  less  of  the  artist  of  Pigeon  Creek 
stuck  to  him  almost  to  the  end;  he  talked  in  fables,  often 
in  gross  fables — these  men,  despite  their  annoyance,  felt 
no  impulse  to  attribute  to  him  personal  habits  in  harmony 
with  his  tales.  On  the  other  hand,  they  were  puzzled  by 
their  own  impression,  never  wavering,  that  he  was  ‘‘pure- 
minded.’^  The  clue  which  they  did  not  have  lay  in  the 
nature  of  his  double  life.  That  part  of  him  which,  in  our 
modern  jargon,  we  call  his  “reactions”  obeyed  a curious 
law.  They  dwelt  in  his  outer  life  without  penetrating  to 
the  inner;  but  all  his  impulses  of  personal  action  were  se- 

k 


i8 


LINCOLN 


curely  seated  deep  within.  Even  at  nineteen,  for  any  one 
attuned  to  spiritual  meaning,  he  would  have  struck  the  note 
of  mystery,  faintly,  perhaps,  but  certainly.  To  be  sure,  no 
hint  of  this  reached  the  minds  of  his  rollicking  comrades  of 
the  harvest  field.  It  was  not  for  such  as  they  to  perceive 
the  problem  of  his  character,  to  suspect  that  he  was  a genius, 
or  to  guess  that  a time  would  come  when  sincere  men  would 
form  impressions  of  him  as  dissimilar  as  black  and  white. 
And  so  far  as  it  went  the  obser\^ation  of  the  plowboys  was 
correct.  The  man  they  saw  was  indeed  a reflection  of 
themselves.  But  it  was  a reflection  only.  Their  influence 
entered  into  the  real  man  no  more  than  the  image  in  a 
mirror  has  entered  into  the  glass. 


Ill 


A VILLAGE  LEADER 

Though  placid,  this  early  Lincoln  was  not  resigned. 
He  differed  from  the  boors  of  Pigeon  Creek  in  wanting 
some  other  sort  of  life.  What  it  was  he  wanted,  he  did 
not  know.  His  reading  had  not  as  yet  given  him  definite 
ambitions.  It  may  well  be  that  New  Orleans  was  the  clue 
to  such  stirring  in  him  as  there  was  of  that  discontent 
which  fanciful  people  have  called  divine.  Remembering 
New  Orleans,  could  any  imaginative  youth  be  content  with 
Pigeon  Creek? 

In  the  spring  of  1830,  shortly  after  he  came  of  age,  he 
agreed  for  once  with  his  father  whose  chronic  vagrancy 
had  reasserted  itself.  The  whole  family  set  out  again  on 
their  wanderings  and  made  their  way  in  an  oxcart  to  a new 
halting  place  on  the  Sangamon  River  in  Illinois.  There 
Abraham  helped  his  faTtHer  "clS?  SotEer  piece"^of  land  for 
another  illusive  “start”  in  life.  The  fpllowing  spnng  he 
parted  with  his  family  and  struck  out  for  himself.^  His 
next  Adventure  was  a second  trip  as  a boatman  to  New 
Orleans.  Can  one  help  suspecting  there  was  vague  hope 
in  his  heart  that  he  might  be  adventuring  to  the  land  of 
hearts’  desire?  If  there  was,  the  yokels  who  were  his 
fellow  boatmen  never  suspected  it.  One  of  them  long 
afterward  asserted  that  Lincoln  returned  from  New  Or- 
leans fiercely  rebellious  against  its  central  institution,  slav- 
ery, and  determined  to  “hit  that  thing”  whenever  he  could 

19 


20 


LINCOLN 


The  legend  centers  in  his  witnessing  a slave  auction  and 
giving  voice  to  his  horror  in  a style  quite  unlike  any  of  his 
authentic  utterances.  The  authority  for  all  this  is  doubt- 
ful.^ Furthermore,  the  Lincoln  of  1831  was  not  yet 
awakened.  That  inner  life  in  which  such  a reaction  might 
take  place  was  still  largely  dormant.  The  outer  life,  the 
life  of  the  harvest  clown,  was  still  a thick  insulation.  Ap- 
parently, the  waking  of  the  inner  life,  the  termination  of 
its  dormant  stage,  was  reserved  for  an  incident  far  more 
personal  that  fell  upon  him  in  desolating  force  a few 
years  later. 

Following  the  New  Orleans  venture,  came  a period  as 
storekeeper  for  a man  named  Denton  Offut,  in  perhaps 
the  least  desirable  town  in  Illinois — a dreary  little  huddle  of 
houses  gathered  around  Rutledge’s  Mill  on  the  Sangamon 
River  and  called  New  Salem.  Though  a few  of  its  people 
were  of  a better  sort  than  any  Lincoln  had  yet  known — 
except,  perhaps,  the  miller’s  family  in  the  old  days  in 
Kentucky — and  still  a smaller  few  were  of  fine  quality,  the 
community  for  the  most  part  was  hopeless.  A fatality  for 
unpromising  neighborhoods  overhangs  like  a doom  the  early 
part  of  this  strange  life.  All  accounts  of  New  Salem  rep- 
resent it  as  predominantly  a congregation  of  the  worthless, 
flung  together  by  unaccountable  accident  at  a spot  where 
there  was  no  genuine  reason  for  a town’s  existence.  A 
casual  town,  created  by  drifters,  and  void  of  settled  pur- 
pose. Small  wonder  that  ere  long  it  vanished  from  the 
map;  that  after  a few  years  its  drifting  congregation  dis- 
persed to  every  comer  of  the  horizon,  and  was  no  more. 
But  during  its  brief  existence  it  staged  an  episode  in  the 
development  of  Lincoln’s  character.  However,  this  did  not 
take  place  at  once.  And  before  it  happened,  came  another 


A VILLAGE  LEADER 


21 


turn  of  his  soul’s  highway  scarcely  less  important.  He  dis- 
covered, or  thought  he  discovered,  what  he  wanted.  His 
vague  ambition  took  shape.  He  decided  to  try  to  be  a 
politician.  At  twenty-three,  after  living  in  New  Salem  less 
than  a year,  this  audacious,  not  to  say  impertinent,  young 
man  offered  himself  to  the  voters  of  Sangamon  County  as 
a candidate  for  the  Legislature.  At  this  time  that  humility 
which  was  eventually  his  characteristic  had  not  appeared. 
It  may  be  dated  as  subsequent  to  New  Salem — a further 
evidence  that  the  deep  spiritual  experience  which  closed  this 
chapter  formed  a crisis.  Before  then,  at  New  Salem  as  at 
Pigeon  Creek,  he  was  but  a variant,  singularly  decent,  of 
the  boisterous,  frolicking,  impertinent  type  that  instinctively 
sought  the  laxer  neighborhoods  of  the  frontier.  An  echo 
of  Pigeon  Creek  informed  the  young  storekeeper’s  first 
state  paper,  the  announcement  of  his  candidacy,  in  the  year 
1832.^  His  first  political  speech  was  in  a curious  vein,  glib, 
intimate  and  fantastic : ‘Tellow  citizens,  I presume  you  all 
know  who  I am.  I am  humble  Abraham  Lincoln.  I have 
been  solicited  by  many  friends  to  become  a candidate  for 
the  Legislature.  My  politics  are  short  and  sweet  like  the 
old  woman’s  dance.  I am  in  favor  of  a national  bank.  I 
am  in  favor  of  the  internal  improvement  system  and  a high 
protective  tariff.  These  are  my  sentiments  and  political 
principles.  If  elected,  I shall  be  thankful;  if  not  it  will  be 
all  the  same.”^ 

However,  this  bold  throw  of  the  dice  of  fortune  was 
not  quite  so  impertinent  as  it  seems.  During  the  months 
when  he  was  in  charge  of  Offut’s  grocery  store  he  had  made 
a conquest  of  New  Salem.  The  village  grocery  in  those 
days  was  the  village  club.  It  had  its  constant  gathering  of 
loafers  all  of  whom  were  endowed  with  votes.  It  was  the 


22 


LINCOLN 


one  place  through  which  passed  the  whole  population,  in 
and  out,  one  time  or  another.  To  a clever  storekeeper  it 
gave  a chance  to  establish  a following.  Had  he,  as  Lincoln 
had,  the  gift  of  story-telling,  the  gift  of  humor,  he  was  a 
made  man.  Pigeon  Creek  over  again!  Lincoln’s  wealth 
of  funny  stories  gave  Offut’s  grocery  somewhat  the  role  of 
a vaudeville  theater  and  made  the  storekeeper  as  popular  a 
man  as  there  was  in  New  Salem. 

In  another  way  he  repeated  his  conquest  of  Pigeon 
Creek.  New  Salem  had  its  local  Alsatia  known  as  Clary’s 
Grove  whose  insolent  young  toughs  led  by  their  chief.  Jack 
Armstrong,  were  the  terror  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
groceries  paid  them  tribute  in  free  drinks.  Any  luckless 
storekeeper  who  incurred  their  displeasure  found  his  store 
some  fine  morning  a total  wreck.  Lincoln  challenged  Jack 
Armstrong  to  a duel  with  fists.  It  was  formally  arranged. 
A ring  was  formed;  the  whole  village  was  audience;  and 
Lincoln  thrashed  him  to  a finish.  But  this  was  only  a 
small  part  of  his  triumph.  His  physical  prowess,  joined 
with  his  humor  and  his  companionableness,  entirely  capti- 
vated Clary’s  Grove.  Thereafter,  it  was  storekeeper  Lin- 
coln’s pocket  borough;  its  ruffians  were  his  body-guard. 
Woe  to  any  one  who  made  trouble  for  their  hero. 

There  were  still  other  causes  for  his  quick  rise  to  the 
position  of  village  leader.  His  unfailing  kindness  was  one; 
his  honesty  was  another.  Tales  were  related  of  his  scrupu- 
lous dealings,  such  as  walking  a distance  of  miles  in  order 
to  correct  a trifling  error  he  had  made,  in  selling  a poor 
woman  less  than  the  proper  weight  of  tea.  Then,  too,  by 
New  Salem  standards,  he  was  educated.  Long  practice  on 
the  shovel  at  Pigeon  Creek  had  given  him  a good  hand- 
writing, and  one  of  the  first  things  he  did  at  New  Salem 


A VILLAGE  LEADER 


23 


was  to  volunteer  to  be  clerk  of  elections.  And  there  was 
a distinct  moral  superiority.  Little  as  this  would  have  sig- 
nified unbacked  by  his  giant  strength  since  it  had  that 
authority  behind  it  his  morality  set  him  apart  from  his 
followers,  different,  imposing.  He  seldom,  if  ever,  drank 
whisky.  Sobriety  was  already  the  rule  of  his  life,  both 
outward  and  inward.  At  the  same  time  he  was  not  cen- 
sorious. He  accepted  the  devotion  of  Clary’s  Grove  with- 
out the  slightest  attempt  to  make  over  its  bravoes  in  his 
own  image.  He  sympathized  with  its  ideas  of  sport.  For 
all  his  kindliness  to  humans  of  every  sort  much  of  his  sen- 
sitiveness for  animals  had  passed  away.  He  was  not  averse 
to  cock  fighting;  he  enjoyed  a horse  race.^  Altogether,  in 
his  outer  life,  before  the  catastrophe  that  revealed  him  to 
himself,  he  was  quite  as  much  in  the  tone  of  New  Salem 
as  ever  in  that  of  Pigeon  Creek.  When  the  election  came 
he  got  every  vote  in  New  Salem  except  three.® 

But  the  village  was  a small  part  of  Sangamon  County. 
Though  Lincoln  received  a respectable  number  of  votes  else- 
where, his  total  was  well  down  in  the  running.  He  re- 
mained an  inconspicuous  minority  candidate. 

Meanwhile  Offut’s  grocery  had  failed.  In  the  midst 
of  the  legislative  campaign,  Offut’s  farmer  storekeeper  vol- 
unteered for  the  Indian  War  with  Black  Hawk,  but  re- 
turned to  New  Salem  shortly  before  the  election  without 
having  once  smelled  powder.  Since  his  peers  were  not  of 
a mind  to  give  him  immediate  occupation  in  governing,  he 
turned  again  to  business.  He  formed  a partnership  with  a 
man  named  Berry.  They  bought  on  credit  the  wreck  of 
a grocery  that  had  been  sacked  by  Lincoln’s  friends  of 
Gary’s  Grove,  and  started  business  as  “General  Merchants,” 
under  the  style  of  Berry  & Lincoln.  There  followed  a year 


24 


LINCOLN 


of  complete  unsuccess.  Lincoln  demonstrated  that  he  was 
far  more  inclined  to  read  any  chance  book  that  came  his 
way  than  to  attend  to  business,  and  that  he  had  ‘‘no  money 
sense.’’  The  new  firm  went  the  way  of  Offut’s  grocery, 
leaving  nothing  behind  it  but  debt.  The  debts  did  not  trouble 
Berry;  Lincoln  assumed  them  all.  They  formed  a dreadful 
load  which  he  bore  with  his  usual  patience  and  little  by 
little  discharged.  Fifteen  years  passed  before  again  he  was 
a free  man  financially. 

A new  and  powerful  influence  came  into  his  life  during 
the  half  idleness  of  his  unsuccessful  storekeeping.  It  is 
worth  repeating  in  his  own  words,  or  what  seems  to  be  the 
fairly  accurate  recollection  of  his  words : “One  day  a 
man  who  was  migrating  to  the  West,  drove  up  in  front  of 
my  store  with  a wagon  which  contained  his  family  and 
household  plunder.  He  asked  me  if  I would  buy  an  old 
barrel  for  which  he  had  no  room  in  his  wagon,  and  which 
he  said  contained  nothing  of  special  value.  I did  not  want  it 
but  to  oblige  him  I bought  it  and  paid  him,  I think,  a half 
a dollar  for  it.  Without  further  examination  I put  it  away 
in  the  store  and  forgot  all  about  it.  Sometime  after,  in 
overhauling  things,  I came  upon  the  barrel  and  emptying  it 
upon  the  floor  to  see  what  it  contained,  I found  at  the  bottom 
of  the  rubbish  a complete  edition  of  Black  stone's  Comment 
taries.  I began  to  read  those  famous  works,  and  I had 
plenty  of  time;  for  during  the  long  summer  days  when 
the  farmers  were  busy  with  their  crops,  my  customers  were 
few  and  far  between.  The  more  I read,  the  more  intensely 
interested  I became.  Never  in  my  whole  life  was  my 
mind  so  thoroughly  absorbed.  I read  until  I devoured 
them.”" 


A VILLAGE  LEADER 


25 


The  majesty  of  the  law  at  the  bottom  of  a barrel  of 
trash  discovered  at  a venture  and  taking  instant  possession 
of  the  discoverer’s  mind ! Like  the  genius  issuing  grandly 
in  the  smoke  cloud  from  the  vase  drawn  up  out  of  the  sea 
by  the  fisher  in  the  Arabian  tale ! But  this  great  book  was 
not  the  only  magic  casket  discovered  by  the  idle  store- 
keeper, the  broken  seals  of  which  released  mighty  pres- 
ences. Both  Shakespeare  and  Burns  were  revealed  to  him 
in  this  period.  Never  after  did  either  for  a moment  cease  to 
be  his  companion.  These  literary  treasures  were  found  at 
Springfield  twenty  miles  from  New  Salem,  whither  Lincoln 
went  on  foot  many  a time  to  borrow  books. 

His  subsistence,  after  the  failure  of  Berry  & Lincoln, 
was  derived  from  the  friendliness  of  the  County  Surveyor 
Calhoun,  who  was  a Democrat,  while  Lincoln  called  himself 
a Whig.  Calhoun  offered  him  the  post  of  assistant.  In 
accepting,  Lincoln  again  displayed  the  honesty  that  was 
beginning  to  be  known  as  his  characteristic.  He  stipulated 
that  he  should  be  perfectly  free  to  express  his  opinions,  that 
the  office  should  not  be  in  any  respect,  a bribe.  This  being 
conceded,  he  went  to  work  furiously  on  a treatise  upon  sur- 
veying, and  astonishingly  soon,  with  the  generous  help  of  the 
schoolmaster  of  New  Salem,  was  able  to  take  up  his  duties. 
His  first  fee  was  ‘hwo  buckskins  which  Hannah  Annstrong 
'fixed’  on  his  pants  so  the  briers  would  not  wear  them 
out.”8 

Thus  time  passed  until  1834  when  he  staked  his  only 
wealth,  his  popularity,  in  the  gamble  of  an  election.  This 
time  he  was  successful.  During  the  following  winter  he 
sat  in  the  Legislature  of  Illinois;  a huge,  uncouth,  mainly 
silent  member,  making  apparently  no  impression  whatever. 


26 


LINCOLN 


very  probably  striking  the  educated  members  as  a nonentity 
in  homespun. 

In  the  spring  of  1835,  he  was  back  in  New  Salem,  busy 
again  with  his  surveying.  Kind  friends  had  secured  him 
the  office  of  local  postmaster.  The  delivery  of  letters  was 
now  combined  with  going  to  and  fro  as  a surveyor.  As 
the  mail  came  but  once  a week,  and  as  whatever  he  had 
to  deliver  could  generally  be  carried  in  his  hat,  and  as 
payment  was  in  proportion  to  business  done,  his  revenues 
continued  small.  Nevertheless,  in  the  view  of  New  Salem, 
he  was  getting  on. 

And  then  suddenly  misfortune  overtook  him.  His  great 
adventure,  the  first  of  those  spiritual  agonies  of  which  he 
was  destined  to  endure  so  many,  approached.  Hitherto, 
since  childhood,  women  had  played  no  part  in  his  story. 
All  the  recollections  of  his  youth  are  vague  in  their  refer- 
ences to  the  feminine.  As  a boy  at  Pigeon  Creek  when 
old  Thomas  was  hiring  him  out,  the  women  of  the  settle- 
ment liked  to  have  him  around,  apparently  because  he  was 
kindly  and  ever  ready  to  do  odd  jobs  in  addition  to  his 
regular  work.  However,  until  1835,  his  story  is  that  of  a 
man’s  man,  possibly  because  there  was  so  much  of  the  femi- 
nine in  his  own  make-up.  In  1835  came  a change.  A girl 
of  New  Salem,  a pretty  village  maiden,  the  best  the  poor 
place  could  produce,  revealed  him  to  himself.  Sweet  Ann 
Rutledge,  the  daughter  of  the  tavern-keeper,  was  his  first 
love.  But  destiny  was  against  them.  A brief  engagement 
was  terminated  by  her  sudden  death  late  in  the  summer  of 
1835.®  Of  this  shadowy  love-affair  very  little  is  known, 
though  much  romantic  fancy  has  been  woven  about  it.  Its 
significance  for  after-time  is  in  Lincoln’s  ‘'reaction.”  There 
had  been  much  sickness  in  New  Salem  the  summer  in  which 


A VILLAGE  LEADER 


27 


Ann  died.  Lincoln  had  given  himself  freely  as  nurse — the 
depth  of  his  companionableness  thus  being  proved — and 
was  in  an  overwrought  condition  when  his  sorrow  struck 
him.  A last  interview  with  the  dying  girl,  at  which  no  one 
was  present,  left  him  quite  unmanned.  A period  of  violent 
agitation  followed.  For  a time  he  seemed  completely  trans- 
formed. The  sunny  Lincoln,  the  delight  of  Clary’s  Grove, 
had  vanished.  In  his  place  was  a desolated  soul — a brother 
to  dragons,  in  the  terrible  imagery  of  Job — a dweller  in  the 
dark  places  of  affliction.  It  was  his  mother  reborn  in 
him.  It  was  all  the  shadowiness  of  his  mother’s  world; 
all  that  frantic  reveling  in  the  mysteries  of  woe  to  which, 
hitherto,  her  son  had  been  an  alien.  To  the  simple  minds 
of  the  villagers  with  their  hard-headed,  practical  way  of 
keeping  all  things,  especially  love  and  grief,  in  the  outer 
layer  of  consciousness,  this  revelation  of  an  emotional 
terror  was  past  understanding.  Some  of  them,  true  to  their 
type,  pronounced  him  insane.  He  was  watched  with 
especial  vigilance  during  storms,  fogs,  damp  gloomy 
weather,  “for  fear  of  an  accident.”  Surely,  it  was  only  a 
crazy  man,  in  New  Salem  psychology,  who  was  heard  to 
say,  “I  can  never  be  reconciled  to  have  the  snow,  rains 
and  storms  beat  upon  her  grave. 

In  this  crucial  moment  when  the  real  base  of  his  char- 
acter had  been  suddenly  reveaLB— alb tliEpassioha®  of 
the  forest  shadow,  the  unfathomable  gloom  laid  so  deep 
at  the^ bottom  of  his  soul — he  was  carried  through  his  spir- 
itual eclipse  by  the  loving  comprehension  of  two  fine 
friends.  New  Salem  was  not  all  of  the  sort  of  Clary’s 
Grove.  Near  by  on  a farm,  in  a lovely,  restful  landscape, 
lived  two  people  who  deserve  to  be  remembered,  Bowlin 
Green  and  his  wife.  They  drew  Lincoln  into  the  seclusion 


28 


LINCOLN 


of  their  home,  and  there  in  the  gleaming  days  of  autumn, 
when  everywhere  in  the  near  woods  flickered  downward, 
slowly,  idly,  the  falling  leaves  golden  and  scarlet,  Lincoln 
recovered  his  equanimity. But  the  hero  of  Pigeon  Creek, 
of  Clary’s  Grove,  did  not  quite  come  back.  In  the  outward 
life,  to  be  sure,  a day  came  when  the  sunny  story-teller, 
the  victor  of  Jack  Armstrong,  was  once  more  what  Jack 
would  have  called  his  real  self.  In  the  inner  life  where 
alone  was  his  reality,  the  temper  which  affliction  had  re- 
vealed to  hinTwas  established.  Ever  after,  at  heart,  he 
was  to  dwell  alone,  facing,  silent,  those  inscrutable  things 
which  to  the  primitive  mind  are  things  of  every  day. 
Always,  he  was  to  have  for  his  portion  in  his  real  self, 
the  dimness  of  twilight,  or  at  best,  the  night  with  its 
stars,  “never  glad,  confident  morning  again/' 


IV 


REVELATIONS 

From  this  time  during  many  years  almost  all  the  men 
who  saw  beyond  the  surface  in  Lincoln  have  indicated, 
in  one  way  or  another,  their  vision  of  a constant  quality. 
The  observers  of  the  surface  did  not  see  it.  That  is  to  say, 
Lincoln  did  not  at  once  cast  off  any  of  his  previous  char- 
acteristics. It  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  did.  His  experience 
was  tenaciously  cumulative.  Everything  he  once  acquired, 
he  retained,  both  in  the  outer  life  and  the  inner;  and  there- 
fore, to  those  who  did  not  have  the  clue  to  him,  he  appeared 
increasingly  contradictory,  one  thing  on  the  surface,  another 
within.  Clary's  Grove  and  the  evolutions  from  Clary’s 
Grove,  continued  to  think  of  him  as  their  leader.  On  the 
other  hand,  men  who  had  parted  with  the  mere  humanism 
of  Clary’s  Grove,  who  were  a bit  analytical,  who  thought 
themselves  still  more  analytical,  seeing  somewhat  beneath 
the  surface,  reached  conclusions  similar  to  those  of  a shrewd 
Congressman  who  long  afterward  said  that  Lincoln  was 
not  a leader  of  men  but  a manager  of  men.^  This  astute 
distinction  was  not  true  of  the  Lincoln  the  Congressman 
confronted;  nevertheless,  it  betrays  much  both  of  the 
observer  and  of  the  man  he  tried  to  observe.  In  the  Con- 
gressman’s day,  what  he  thought  he  saw  was  in  reality  the 
shadow  of  a Lincoln  that  had  passed  away,  passed  so  slowly, 
so  imperceptibly  that  few  people  knew  it  had  passed.  Dur- 
ing many  years  following  1835,  the  distinction  in  the  main, 

29 


30 


LINCOLN 


applied.  So  thought  the  men  who,  like  Lincoln’s  latest  law 
partner,  William  H.  Herndon,  were  not  derivatives  of 
Clary’s  Grove.  The  Lincoln  of  these  days  was  the  only  one 
Herndon  knew.  How  deeply  he  understood  Lincoln  is 
justly  a matter  of  debate;  but  this,  at  least,  he  understood 
— that  Clary’s  Grove,  in  attributing  to  Lincoln  its  own 
idea  of  leadership,  was  definitely  wrong.  He  saw  in  Lin- 
coln, in  all  the  larger  matters,  a tendency  to  wait  on  events, 
to  take  the  lead  indicated  by  events,  to  do  what  shallow 
people  would  have  called  mere  drifting.  To  explain  this, 
he  labeled  him  a fatalist.^  The  label  was  only  approximate, 
as  most  labels  are.  But  Herndon’s  effort  to  find  one  is 
significant.  In  these  years,  Lincoln  took  the  initiative — 
when  he  took  it  at  all — in  a way  that  most  people  did  not 
recognize.  His  spirit  was  ever  aloof.  It  was  only  the 
every-day,  the  external  Lincoln  that  came  into  practical 
contact  with  his  fellows. 

This  is  especially  true  of  the  growing  politician.  He 
served  four  consecutive  terms  in  the  Legislature  without 
doing  anything  that  had  the  stamp  of  true  leadership.  He 
was  not  like  either  of  the  two  types  of  politicians  that  gen- 
erally made  up  the  legislatures  of  those  days — the  men  who 
dealt  in  ideas  as  political  counters,  and  the  men  who  were 
grafters  without  in  their  naive  way  knowing  that  they 
were  grafters.  As  a member  of  the  Legislature,  Lincoln 
did  not  deal  in  ideas.  He  was  instinctively  incapable  of 
graft.  A curiously  routine  politician,  one  who  had  none 
of  the  earmarks  familiar  in  such  a person.  Aloof,  and  yet, 
more  than  ever  companionable,  the  power  he  had  in  the 
Legislature — for  he  had  acquired  a measure  of  power — 
was  wholly  personal.  Though  called  a Whig,  it  was  not 
as  a party  man  but  as  a personal  friend  that  he  was  able 


REVELATIONS 


31 


to  carry  through  his  legislative  triumphs.  His  most  signal 
achievement  was  wholly  a matter  of  personal  politics.  There 
was  a general  demand  for  the  removal  of  the  capital  from 
its  early  seat  at  Vandalia,  and  rivalry  among  other  towns 
was  keen.  Sangamon  County  was  bent  on  winning  the 
prize  for  its  own  Springfield.  Lincoln  was  put  in  charge 
of  the  Springfield  strategy.  How  he  played  his  cards  may 
be  judged  from  the  recollections  of  another  member  who 
seems  to  have  anticipated  that  noble  political  maxim, 
‘‘What’s  the  Constitution  between  friends?”  “Lincoln,” 
he  says,  “made  Webb  and  me  vote  for  the  removal,  though 
we  belonged  to  the  southern  end  of  the  state.  We  defended 
our  vote  before  our  constituents  by  saying  that  necessity 
would  ultimately  force  the  seat  of  government  to  a central 
position ; but  in  reality,  we  gave  the  vote  to  Lincoln  because 
we  liked  him,  because  we  wanted  to  oblige  our  friend,  and 
because  we  recognized  him  as  our  leader.”^ 

And  yet  on  the  great  issues  of  the  day  he  could  not 
lead  them.  In  1837,  the  movement  of  the  militant  aboli- 
tionists, still  but  a few  years  old,  was  beginning  to  set  the 
Union  by  the  ears.  The  illegitimate  child  of  Calvinism  and 
the  rights  of  man,  it  damned  with  one  anathema  every 
holder  of  slaves  and  also  every  opponent  of  slavery  ex- 
cept its  own  uncompromising  adherents.  Its  animosity  was 
trained  particularly  on  every  suggestion  that  designed  to 
uproot  slavery  without  creating  an  economic  crisis,  that 
would  follow  England’s  example,  and  terminate  the  “pecu- 
liar institution”  by  purchase.  The  religious  side  of  aboli- 
tion came  out  in  its  fury  against  such  ideas.  Slave-holders 
were  Canaanites.  The  new  cult  were  God’s  own  people 
who  were  appointed  to  feel  anew  the  joy  of  Israel  hewing 
Agag  asunder.  Fanatics,  terrible,  heroic,  unashamed,  they 


32 


LINCOLN 


made  two  sorts  of  enemies — not  only  the  partisans  of 
slavery,  but  all  those  sane  reformers  who,  while  hating 
slavery,  hated  also  the  blood-lust  that  would  make  the  hew- 
ing of  Agag  a respectable  device  of  political  science.  Among 
the  partisans  of  slavery  were  the  majority  of  the  Illinois 
Legislature.  Early  in  1837,  they  passed  resolutions  con- 
demning abolitionism.  Whereupon  it  was  revealed — not 
that  anybody  at  the  time  cared  to  know  the  fact,  or  took 
it  to  heart — that  among  the  other  sort  of  the  enemies  of 
abolition  was  our  good  young  friend,  everybody’s  good 
friend,  Abe  Lincoln.  He  drew  up  a protest  against  the 
Legislature’s  action;  but  for  all  his  personal  influence  in 
other  affairs,  he  could  persuade  only  one  member  to  sign 
with  him.  Not  his  to  command  at  will  those  who  ‘Rec- 
ognized him  as  their  leader”  in  the  orthodox  political  game 
— so  discreet,  in  that  it  left  principles  for  some  one  else  to 
be  troubled  about ! Lincoln’s  protest  was  quite  too  far  out 
of  the  ordinary  for  personal  politics  to  endure  it.  The 
signers  were  asked  to  proclaim  their  belief  “that  the  insti- 
tution of  slavery  is  founded  on  both  injustice  and  bad 
policy;  but  that  the  promulgation  of  abolition  doctrines 
tends  rather  to  promote  than  to  abate  its  evils.”^ 

The  singular  originality  of  this  position,  sweeping  aside 
as  vain  both  participants  in  the  new  political  duel,  was  quite 
lost  on  the  little  world  in  which  Lincoln  lived.  For  after- 
time it  has  the  interest  of  a bombshell  that  failed  to  explode. 
It  is  the  dawn  of  Lincoln’s  intellect.  In  his  lonely  inner 
life,  this  crude  youth,  this  lover  of  books  in  a village  where 
books  were  curiosities,  had  begun  to  think.  The  stages  of 
his  transition  from  mere  story-telling  yokel — intellectual 
only  as  the  artist  is  intellectual,  in  his  methods  of  handling — 
to  the  man  of  ideas,  are  wholly  lost.  And  in  this  fact  we 


REVELATIONS 


33 


have  a prophecy  of  all  the  years  to  come.  Always  we 
shall  seek  in  vain  for  the  early  stages  of  Lincoln’s  ideas. 
His  mind  will  never  reveal  itself  until  the  moment  at  which 
it  engages  the  world.  No  wonder,  in  later  times,  his  close 
associates  pronounced  him  the  most  secretive  of  men;  that 
one  of  the  keenest  of  his  observers  said  that  the  more  you 
knew  of  Lincoln,  the  less  you  knew  of  him.® 

Except  for  the  handicap  of  his  surroundings,  his  intel- 
lectual start  would  seem  belated;  even  allowing  for  hia 
handicap,  it  was  certainly  slow.  He  was  now  twenty-eight. 
Pretty  well  on  to  reveal  for  the  first  time  intellectual  power! 
Another  characteristic  here.  His  mind  worked  slowly.  But 
it  is  worth  observing  that  the  ideas  of  the  protest  were 
never  abandoned.  Still  a third  characteristic,  mental  tenac- 
ity. To  the  end  of  his  days,  he  looked  askance  at  the  temper 
of  abolitionism,  regarded  it  ever  as  one  of  the  chief  evils 
of  political  science.  And  quite  as  significant  was  another 
idea  of  the  protest  which  also  had  developed  from  within, 
which  also  he  never  abandoned. 

On  the  question  of  the  power  of  the  national  govern- 
ment with  regard  to  slavery,  he  took  a position  not  in 
accord  with  either  of  the  political  creeds  of  his  day.  The 
Democrats  had  already  formulated  their  doctrine  that  the 
national  government  was  a thing  of  extremely  limited 
powers,  the  ‘‘glorified  policeman”  of  a certain  school  of 
publicists  reduced  almost  to  a minus  quantity.  The  Whigs, 
though  amiably  vague  on  most  things  except  money-making 
by  state  aid,  were  supposed  to  stand  for  a “strong”  cen- 
tral government.  Abolitionism  had  forced  on  both  parties 
a troublesome  question,  “What  about  slavery  in  the  District 
of  Columbia,  where  the  national  government  was  supreme?” 
The  Democrats  were  prompt  in  their  reply : Let  the  glori- 


34 


LINCOLN 


fied  policeman  keep  the  peace  and  leave  private  interests, 
such  as  slave-holding,  alone.  The  Whigs  evaded,  tried 
not  to  apply  their  theory  of  '‘strong”  government;  they  were 
fearful  lest  they  offend  one  part  of  their  membership  if 
they  asserted  that  the  nation  had  no  right  to  abolish  slavery 
in  the  District,  fearful  of  offending  others  if  they  did 
not.  Lincoln’s  protest  asserted  that  "the  Congress  of 
the  United  States  has  the  power,  under  the  Constitution, 
to  abolish  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia  but  . . . 
the  power  ought  not  to  be  exercised,  unless  at  the 
request  of  the  District.”  In  other  words,  Lincoln, 
when  suddenly  out  of  the  storm  and  stress  that  fol- 
lowed Ann’s  death  his  mentality  flashes  forth,  has  an  at- 
titude toward  political  power  that  was  not  a consequence 
of  his  environment,  that  sets  him  apart  as  a type  of  man 
rare  in  the  history  of  statesmanship.  What  other  American 
politician  of  his  day — indeed,  very  few  politicians  of  any 
day — would  have  dared  to  assert  at  once  the  existence 
of  a power  and  the  moral  obligation  not  to  use  it?  The 
instinctive  American  mode  of  limiting  power  is  to  deny 
its  existence.  Our  politicians  so  deeply  distrust  our  tempera- 
ment that  whatever  they  may  sayvfor  rhetorical  effect,  they 
will  not,  v/henever  there  is  any  danger  of  their  being  taken 
at  their  word,  trust  anything  to  moral  law.  Their  minds 
are  normally  mechanical.  The  specific,  statutory  limitation 
is  the  only  one  that  for  them  has  reality.  The  truth  that 
temper  in  politics  is  as  great  a factor  as  law  was  no  more 
comprehensible  to  the  politicians  of  1837  than,  say — Ham- 
let or  The  Last  Judgment.  But  just  this  is  what  the  crude 
young  Lincoln  understood.  Somehow  he  had  found  it  in 
the  depths  of  his  own  nature.  The  explanation,  if  any,  is 
to  be  found  in  his  heredity.  Out  of  the  shadowy  parts  of 
him^  beyond  the  limits  of  his  or  any  man’s  conscious  vision, 


REVELATIONS 


35 


dim,  unexplored,  but  real  and  insistent  as  those  forest 
recesses  from  which  his  people  came,  arise  the  two  ideas : 
the  faith  in  a mighty  governing  power;  the  equal  faith 
that  it  should  use  its  might  with  infinite  tenderness,  that  it 
should  be  slow  to  compel  results,  even  the  result  of  right- 
eousness, that  it  should  be  tolerant  of  human  errors,  that 
it  should  transform  them  slowly,  gradually,  as  do  the 
gradual  forces  of  nature,  as  do  the  sun  and  the  rain. 

And  such  was  to  be  the  real  Lincoln  whenever  he  spoke 
out,  to  the  end.  His  tonic  was  struck  by  his  first  significant 
utterance  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight.  How  inevitable  that 
' it  should  have  no  significance  to  the  congregation  of  good 
fellows  who  thought  of  him  merely  as  one  of  their  own 
sort,  who  put  up  with  their  friend’s  vagary,  and  speedily 
forgot  it. 

The  moment  was  a dreary  one  in  Lincoln’s  fortunes. 
By  dint  of  much  reading  of  borrowed  books,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  from  the  easy-going  powers  that  were 
in  those  days,  a license  to  practise  law.  In  the  spring  of 
1837  he  removed  to  Springfield.  He  had  scarcely  a dollar 
in  his  pocket.  Riding  into  Springfield  on  a borrowed  horse, 
with  all  the  property  he  owned,  including  his  law  books, 
in  two  saddle-bags,  he  went  to  the  only  cabinet-maker  in 
the  town  and  ordered  a single  bedstead.  He  then  went 
to  the  store  of  Joshua  F.  Speed.  The  meeting,  an  immensely 
eventful  one  for  Lincoln,  as  well  as  a classic  in  the  history 
of  genius  in  poverty,  is  best  told  in  Speed’s  words:  “He 
came  into  my  store,  set  his  saddle-bags  on  the  counter  and 
inquired  what  the  furnishings  for  a single  bedstead  would 
cost.  I took  slate  and  pencil,  made  a calculation  and  found 
the  sum  for  furnishings  complete,  would  amount  to  seven- 
teen dollars  in  all.  Said  he : Tt  is  probably  cheap  enough. 


3^ 


LINCOLN 


blit  I want  to  say  that,  cheap  as  it  is,  I have  not  the  money 
to  pay;  but  if  you  will  credit  me  until  Christmas,  and  my 
experiment  here  as  a lawyer  is  a success,  I will  pay  you 
then.  If  I fail  in  that  I will  probably  never  pay  you  at 
all.’  The  tone  of  his  voice  was  so  melancholy  that  I felt 
for  him.  I looked  up  at  him  and  I thought  then  as  I think 
now  that  I never  saw  so  gloomy  and  melancholy  a face  in 
my  life.  I said  to  him:  ‘So  small  a debt  seems  to  affect 
you  so  deeply,  I think  I can  suggest  a plan  by  which  you 
will  be  able  to  attain  your  end  without  incurring  any  debt. 
I have  a very  large  room  and  a very  large  double  bed  in  it, 
which  you  are  perfectly  welcome  to  share  with  me  if  you 
choose.’  ‘Where  is  your  room?’  he  asked.  ‘Up-stairs,’  said 
I,  pointing  to  the  stairs  leading  from  the  store  to  my  room. 
Without  saying  a word,  he  took  his  saddle-bags  on  his  arm, 
went  up-stairs,  set  them  down  on  the  floor,  came  down 
again,  and  with  a face  beaming  with  pleasure  and  smiles 
exclaimed,  ‘Well,  Speed,  I’m  moved.’ 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a friendship  which  appears 
to  have  been  the  only  one  of  its  kind  Lincoln  ever  had. 
Late  in  life,  with  his  gifted  private  secretaries,  with  one  or 
two  brilliant  men  whom  he  did  not  meet  until  middle  age, 
he  had  something  like  intimate  comradeship.  But  even  they 
did  not  break  the  prevailing  solitude  of  his  inner  life.  His 
aloofness  of  soul  became  a fixed  condition.  The  one  in- 
truder in  that  lonely  inner  world  was  Speed.  In  the  great 
collection  of  Lincoln’s  letters  none  have  the  intimate  note 
except  the  letters  to  Speed.  And  even  these  are  not  truly 
intimate  with  the  exception  of  a single  group  inspired  all 
by  the  same  train  of  events.  The  deep,  instinctive  reserve 
of  Lincoln’s  nature  was  incurable.  The  exceptional  group 
of  letters  involve  his  final  love-affair.  Four  years  after  his 


REVELATIONS 


37 


removal  to  Springfield,  Lincoln  became  engaged  to  Miss 
Mary  Todd.  By  that  time  he  had  got  a start  at  the  law  and 
was  no  longer  in  grinding  poverty.  If  not  yet  prosperous, 
he  had  acquired  ‘^prospects” — the  strong  likelihood  of  better 
things  to  come  so  dear  to  the  buoyant  heart  of  the  early 
West. 

Hospitable  Springfield,  some  of  whose  best  men  had 
known  him  in  the  Legislature,  opened  its  doors  to  him. 
His  humble  origin,  his  poor  condition,  were  forgiven.  In 
true  Western  fashion,  he  was  frankly  put  on  trial  to  show 
what  was  in  him.  If  he  could  ^‘make  good”  no  further 
questions  would  be  asked.  And  in  every-day  matters,  his 
companionableness  rose  to  the  occasion.  Male  Springfield 
was  captivated  almost  as  easily  as  New  Salem. 

But  all  this  was  of  the  outer  life.  If  the  ferment  within 
was  constant  between  1835  and  1840,  the  fact  is  lost  in  his 
taciturnity.  But  there  is  some  evidence  of  a restless  emo- 
tional life. 

In  the  rebound  after  the  woe  following  Ann’s  death, 
he  had  gone  questing  after  happiness — such  a real  thing 
to  him,  now  that  he  had  discovered  the  terror  of  unhappi- 
ness— in  a foolish  half-hearted  courtship  of  a bouncing, 
sensible  girl  named  Mary  Owens,  who  saw  that  he  was  not 
really  in  earnest,  decided  that  he  was  deficient  in  those 
“little  links  that  make  up  a woman’s  happiness,”  and.  sent 
him  about  his  business — rather,  on  the  whole,  to  his  relief.'^ 
The  affair  with  Miss  Todd  had  a different  tone  from  the 
other.  The  lady  was  of  another  world  socially.  The  West 
in  those  days  swarmed  with  younger  sons,  or  the  equivalents 
of  younger  sons,  seeking  their  fortunes,  whom  sisters  and 
cousins  were  frequently  visiting.  Mary  Todd  was  sister- 
in-law  to  a leading  citizen  of  Springfield.  Her  origin  was 


38 


LINCOLN 


of  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  with  definite  claims  to  distinc- 
tion. Though  a family  genealogy  mounts  as  high  as  the 
sixth  century,  sober  history  is  content  with  a grandfather 
and  great  grandfather  who  were  military  men  of  some 
repute,  two  great  uncles  who  were  governors,  and  another 
who  was  a cabinet  minister.  Rather  imposing  contrasted 
with  the  family  tree  of  the  child  of  Thomas  Lincoln  and 
Nancy  Hanks!  Even  more  significant  was  the  lady’s  edu- 
cation. She  had  been  to  a school  where  young  ladies  of 
similar  social  pretensions  were  allowed  to  speak  only  the 
French  language.  She  was  keenly  aware  of  the  role  marked 
out  for  her  by  destiny,  and  quite  convinced  that  she  would 
always  in  every  way  live  up  to  it. 

The  course  of  her  affair  with  Lincoln  did  not  run 
smooth.  There  were  wide  differences  of  temperament; 
quarrels  of  some  sort — just  what,  gossip  to  this  day  has 
busied  itself  trying  to  discover — and  on  January  i,  1841, 
the  engagement  was  broken.  Before  the  end  of  the  month 
he  wrote  to  his  law  partner  apologizing  for  his  inability 
to  be  coherent  on  business  matters.  ‘‘For  not  giving  you 
a general  summary  of  news,  you  must  pardon  me ; it  is  not 
in  my  power  to  do  so.  I am  now  the  most  miserable  man 
living.  If  what  I feel  were  distributed  to  the  whole  human 
family,  there  would  not  be  one  cheerful  face  on  earth. 
Whether  I shall  ever  be  better,  I can  not  tell.  I awfully 
forebode  I shall  not.  To  remain  as  I am  is  impossible. 
I must  die  or  be  better,  it  appears  to  me  . . . a change 

of  scene  might  help  me.” 

His  friend  Speed  became  his  salvation.  Speed  closed 
out  his  business  and  carried  Lincoln  off  to  visit  his  own 
relations  in  Kentucky.  It  was  the  devotion  of  Bowlin 
Green  and  his  wife  over  again.  But  the  psychology  of  the 


REVELATIONS 


39 


event  was  much  more  singular.  Lincoln,  in  the  inner  life, 
had  progressed  a long  way  since  the  death  of  Ann,  and  the 
progress  was  mainly  in  the  way  of  introspection,  of  self- 
analysis.  He  had  begun  to  brood.  As  always,  the  change 
did  not  reveal  itself  until  an  event  in  the  outward  life  called 
it  forth  like  a rising  ghost  from  the  abyss  of  his  silences. 
His  friends  had  no  suspicion  that  in  his  real  self,  beneath 
the  thick  disguise  of  his  external  sunniness,  he  was  forever 
brooding,  questioning,  analyzing,  searching  after  the  hearts 
of  things  both  within  and  without. 

'Tn  the  winter  of  1840  and  1841,”  writes  Speed,  “he  was 
unhappy  about  the  engagement  to  his  wife — not  being 
entirely  satisfied  that  his  heart  was  going  with  his  hand. 
How  much  he  suffered  then  on  that  account,  none  knew 
so  well  as  myself;  he  disclosed  his  whole  heart  to  me.  In 
the  summer  of  1841  I became  engaged  to  my  wife.  He 
was  here  on  a visit  when  I courted  her ; and  strange  to  say, 
something  of  the  same  feeling  which  I regarded  as  so 
foolish  in  him  took  possession  of  me,  and  kept  me  very 
unhappy  from  the  time  of  my  engagement  until  I was 
married.  This  will  explain  the  deep  interest  he  manifested 
in  his  letters  on  my  account.  . . . One  thing  is 
plainly  discernible;  if  I had  not  been  married  and  happy, 
far  more  happy  than  I ever  expected  to  be,  he  would  not 
have  married.” 

Whether  or  not  Speed  was  entirely  right  in  his  final 
conclusion,  it  is  plain  that  he  and  Lincoln  were  remarkably 
alike  in  temperament;  that  whatever  had  caused  the  break 
in  Lincoln’s  engagement  was  repeated  in  his  friend’s  expe- 
rience when  the  latter  reached  a certain  degree  of  emotional 
tension ; that  this  paralleling  of  Lincoln’s  own  experience  in 
the  experience  of  the  friend  so  like  himself,  broke  up  for 


40 


LINCOLN 


once  the  solitude  of  his  inner  life  and  delivered  him  from 
some  dire  inward  terror.  Both  men  were  deeply  introspec- 
tive. Each  had  that  overpowering  sense  of  the  emotional 
responsibilities  of  marriage,  which  is  bred  in  the  bone  of 
certain  hyper-sensitive  types — at  least  in  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race.  But  neither  realized  this  trait  in  himself  until,  having 
blithely  pursued  his  impulse  to  the  point  of  committal,  his 
spiritual  conscience  suddenly  awakened  and  he  asked  of 
his  heart,  ‘‘Do  I truly  love  her?  Am  I perfectly  sure  the 
emotion  is  permanent?” 

It  is  on  this  speculation  that  the  unique  group  of  the 
intimate  letters  to  Speed  are  developed.  They  were  written 
after  Lincoln’s  return  to  Springfield,  while  Speed  was 
wrestling  with  the  demon  of  self-analysis.  In  the  period 
which  they  cover,  Lincoln  delivered  himself  from  that  same 
demon  and  recovered  serenity.  Before  .long  he  was  writ- 
ing: “I  know  what  the  painful  point  with  you  is  at  all 
times  when  you  are  unhappy;  it  is  an  apprehension  that 
you  do  not  love  her  as  you  should.  WTiat  nonsense ! How 
came  you  to  court  her?  Was  it  because  you  thought  she 
deserved  it  and  that  you  had  given  her  reason  to  expect  it  ? 
If  it  was  for  that,  why  did  not  the  same  reason  make  you 
court  Ann  Todd,  and  at  least  twenty  others  of  whom  you 
can  think,  to  whom  it  would  apply  with  greater  force  than 
to  her?  Did  you  court  her  for  her  wealth?  Why,  you 
said  she  had  none.  But  you  say  you  reasoned  yourself  into 
it.  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Was  it  not  that  you  found 
yourself  unable  to  reason  yourself  out  of  it?”  And  much 
more  of  the  same  shrewd  sensible  sort, — a picture  uninten- 
tionally of  his  own  state  of  mind  no  less  than  of  his  friend’s. 

This  strange  episode  reveals  also  that  amid  Lincoln’s 
silences,  while  the  outward  man  appeared  engrossed  in  every- 


Earliest  Portrait  of  Lincoln.  Age  Thirty-nine 


REVELATIONS 


41 


day  matters,  the  inward  man  had  been  seeking  religion. 
His  failure  to  accept  the  forms  of  his  mother’s  creed  did 
not  rest  on  any  lack  of  the  spiritual  need.  Though  undefined, 
his  religion  glimmers  at  intervals  through  the  Speed  letters. 
.When  Speed’s  fiancee  fell  ill  and  her  tortured  lover  was  in 
a paroxysm  of  remorse  and  grief,  Lincoln  wrote : ‘T  hope 
and  believe  that  your  present  anxiety  and  distress  about  her 
health  and  her  life  must  and  will  forever  banish  those  horrid 
doubts  which  I know  you  sometimes  felt  as  to  the  truth  of 
your  affection  for  her.  If  they  can  once  and  forever  be 
removed  (and  I feel  a presentment  that  the  Almighty  has 
sent  your  present  affliction  expressly  for  that  object)  surely 
nothing  can  come  in  their  stead  to  fill  their  immeasurable 
measure  of  misery.  . . . Should  she,  as  you  fear,  be 

destined  to  an  early  grave,  it  is  indeed  a great  consolation  to 
know  she  is  so  well  prepared  to  meet  it.” 

Again  he  wrote:  ‘T  was  always  superstitious.  I be- 
lieve God  made  me  one  of  the  instruments  of  bringing  you 
and  your  Fanny  together,  which  union  I have  no  doubt  He 
had  foreordained.  Whatever  He  designs  He  will  do  for  me 
yet.  ‘Stand  still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord’  is  my 
text  now,” 

The  duality  in  self-torture  of  these  spiritual  brethren 
endured  in  all  about  a year  and  a half,  and  closed  with 
Speed’s  marriage.  Lincoln  was  now  entirely  delivered  from 
his  demon.  He  wrote  Speed  a charming  letter,  serene, 
affectionate,  touched  with  gentle  banter,  valiant  though  with 
a hint  of  disillusion  as  to  their  common  type.  ‘T  tell  you. 
Speed,  our  forebodings  (for  which  you  and  I are  peculiar) 
are  all  the  worst  sort  of  nonsense.  . . .You  say  you 

much  fear  that  that  elysium  of  which  you  have  dreamed  so 
much  is  never  to  be  realized.  Well,  if  if  shall  not,  I dare 


42 


LINCOLN 


swear  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of  her  who  is  now  your  wife. 
I have  no  doubt  that  it  is  the  peculiar  misfortune  of  both  you 
and  me  to  dream  dreams  of  elysium  far  exceeding  all  that 
anything  earthly  can  realize.”^ 


PROSPERITY 

How  Lincoln’s  engagement  was  patched  up  is  as  de- 
licious an  uncertainty,  from  gossip’s  point  of  view,  as  how  it 
had  been  broken  off.  Possibly,  as  many  people  have  as- 
serted, it  was  brought  about  by  an  event  of  which,  in  the 
irony  of  fate,  Lincoln  ever  after  felt  ashamed.^  An  im- 
pulsive, not  overwise  politician,  James  Shields,  a man  of 
many  peculiarities,  was  saucily  lampooned  in  a Springfield 
paper  by  some  jaunty  girls,  one  of  whom  was  Miss  Todd. 
Somehow, — the  whole  affair  is  very  dim, — Lincoln  acted 
as  their  literary  adviser.  Shields  demanded  the  name  of 
his  detractor;  Lincoln  assumed  the  responsibility;  a chal- 
lenge followed.  Lincoln  was  in  a ridiculous  position.  He 
extricated  himself  by  a device  which  he  used  more  than 
once  thereafter;  he  gravely  proposed  the  impossible.  He 
demanded  conditions  which  would  have  made  the  duel  a 
burlesque — a butcher’s  match  with  cavalry  broadswords. 
But  Shields,  who  was  flawlessly  literal,  insisted.  The  two 
met  and  only  on  the  dueling  ground  was  the  quarrel  at  last 
talked  into  oblivion  by  the  seconds.  Whether  this  was  the 
cause  of  the  reconciliation  with  Miss  Todd,  or  a conse- 
quence, or  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  remains  for  the  lovers 
of  the  unimportant  to  decide.  The  only  sure  fact  in  this 
connection  is  the  marriage  which  took  place  November  4, 
1842.2 


43 


44 


LINCOLN 


Mrs.  Lincoln’s  character  has  been  much  discussed. 
Gossip,  though  with  very  little  to  go  on,  has  built  up  a 
tradition  that  the  marriage  was  unhappy.  If  one  were  to 
believe  the  half  of  what  has  been  put  in  print,  one  would 
have  to  conclude  that  the  whole  business  was  a wretched 
mistake;  that  Lincoln  found  married  life  intolerable  because 
of  the  fussily  dictatorial  self-importance  of  his  wife.  But 
the  authority  for  all  these  tales  is  meager.  Not  one  is 
traceable  to  the  parties  themselves.  Probably  it  will  never 
be  known  till  the  end  of  time  what  is  false  in  them,  what 
true.  About  all  that  can  be  disengaged  from  this  cloud  of 
illusive  witnesses  is  that  Springfield  wondered  why  Mary 
Todd  married  Lincoln.  He  was  still  poor;  so  poor  that  after 
marriage  they  lived  at  the  Globe  Tavern  'on  four  dollars 
a week.  And  the  lady  had  been  sought  by  prosperous  men ! 
The  lowliness  of  Lincoln’s  origin  went  ill  with  her  high 
notions  of  her  family’s  importance.  She  was  downright, 
high-tempered,  dogmatic,  but  social;  he  was  devious,  slow 
to  wrath,  tentative,  solitary;  his  very^  appearance,  then  as 
afterward,  was  against  him.  Though  not  the  hideous  man 
he  was  later  made  out  to  be — the  ‘"gorilla”  of  enemy  carica- 
turists— ^he  was  rugged  of  feature,  with  a lower  lip  that 
tended  to  protrude.  His  immense  frame  was  thin  and  angu- 
lar; his  arms  were  inordinately  long;  hands,  feet  and  eye- 
brows were  large ; skin  swarthy ; hair  coarse,  black  and  gen- 
erally unkempt.  Only  the  amazing,  dreamful  eyes,  and  a 
fineness  in  the  texture  of  the  skin,  redeemed  the  face  and 
gave  it  distinction.^  Why  did  precise,  complacent  Miss  Todd 
pick  out  so  strange  a man  for  her  mate  ? The  story  that  she 
married  him  for  ambition,  divining  what  he  was  to  be — 
like  Jane  Welsh  in  the  conventional  story  of  Carlyle — argues 
too  much  of  the  gift  of  prophecy.  Whatever  her  motive, 


PROSPERITY 


45 


it  is  more  than  likely  that  she  was  what  the  commercialism 
of  to-day  would  call  an  ^‘asset.”  She  had  certain  qualities 
that  her  husband  lacked.  For  one,  she  had  that  intuition 
for  the  main  chance  which  shallow  people  confound  with 
practical  judgment.  Her  soul  inhabited  the  obvious;  but 
within  the  horizon  of  the  obvious  she  was  shrewd,  courage- 
ous and  stubborn.  Not  any  danger  that  Mary  Lincoln 
would  go  wandering  after  dreams,  visions,  presences,  such 
as  were  drifting  ever  in  a ghostly  procession  at  the  back 
of  her  husband’s  mind.  There  was  a danger  in  him  that 
was  to  grow  with  the  years,  a danger  that  the  outer  life 
might  be  swamped  by  the  inner,  that  the  ghosts  within  might 
carry  him  away  with  them,  away  from  fact — seeking — seek- 
ing. That  this  never  occurred  may  be  fairly  credited,  or 
at  least  very  plausibly  credited,  to  the  firm-willed,  the  utterly 
matter-of-fact  little  person  he  had  married.  How  far  he 
enjoyed  the  mode  of  his  safe-guarding  is  a fruitless  specu- 
lation. 

Another  result  that  may,  perhaps,  be  due  to  Mary  Lin- 
coln was  the  improvement  in  his  fortunes.  However,  this 
may  have  had  no  other  source  than  a distinguished  lawyer 
whose  keen  eyes  had  been  observing  him  since  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  politics.  Stephen  T.  Logan  “had  that  old-fash- 
ioned, lawyer-like  morality  which  was  keenly  intolerant  of 
any  laxity  or  slovenliness  of  mind  or  character.”  He  had, 
“as  he  deserved,  the  reputation  of  being  the  best  nisi  prius 
lawyer  in  the  state.”^  After  watching  the  gifted  but  ill- 
prepared  young  attorney  during  several  years,  observing  the 
power  he  had  of  simplification  and  convincingness  in  state- 
ment, taking  the  measure  of  his  scrupulous  honesty — these 
were  ever  Lincoln’s  strong  cards  as  a lawyer — Logan  made 
him  the  surprising  offer  of  a junior  partnership,  which  was 


46 


LINCOLN 


instantly  accepted.  That  was  when  his  inner  horizon  was 
brightening,  shortly  before  his  marriage.  A period  of 
great  mental  energy  followed,  about  the  years  1842  and 
1843.  Lincoln  threw  himself  into  the  task  of  becoming  a 
real  lawyer  under  Logan’s  direction.  However,  his  zeal 
flagged  after  a time,  and  when  the  partnership  ended  four 
years  later  he  had  to  some  extent  fallen  back  into  earlier, 
less  strenuous  habits.  “He  permitted  his  partner  to  do  all 
the  studying  in  the  preparation  of  cases,  while  he  himself 
trusted  to  his  general  knowledge  of  the  law  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  surroundings  to  overcome  the  judge  or  the 
jury.”^  Though  Lincoln  was  to  undergo  still  another  stim- 
ulation of  the  scholarly  conscience  before  finding  himself 
as  a lawyer,  the  four  years  with  Logan  were  his  true  student 
period.  If  the  enthusiasm  of  the  first  year  did  not  hold  out, 
none  the  less  he  issued  from  that  severe  course  of  study  a 
changed  man,  one  who  knew  the  difference  between  the 
learned  lawyer  and  the  unlearned.  His  own  methods,  to  be 
sure,  remained  what  they  always  continued  to  be,  unsys- 
tematic, not  to  say  slipshod.  Even  after  he  became  presi- 
dent his  lack  of  system  was  at  times  the  despair  of  his  sec- 
retaries.® Herndon,  who  succeeded  Logan  as  his  partner,^ 
who  admired  both  men,  has  a broad  hint  that  Logan  and 
Lincoln  were  not  always  an  harmonious  firm.  A clash  of 
political  ambitions  is  part  explanation;  business  methods 
another.  “Logan  was  scrupulously  exact  and  used  extra- 
ordinary care  in  the  preparation  of  papers.  His  words  were 
well  chosen,  and  his  style  of  composition  was  stately  and 
formal.”  He  was  industrious  and  very  thrifty,  while  Lin- 
coln had  “no  money  sense.”  It  must  have  annoyed,  if  it 
did  not  exasperate  his  learned  and  formal  partner,  when 
Lincoln  signed  the  firm  name  to  such  letters  as  this : “As 


PROSPERITY 


47 


to  real  estate,  we  can  not  attend  to  it.  We  are  not  real 
estate  agents,  we  are  lawyers.  We  recommend  that  you 
give  the  charge  of  it  to  Mr.  Isaac  S.  Britton,  a trust- 
worthy man  and  one  whom  the  Lord  made  on  purpose  for 
such  business.”^ 

Superficial  observers,  then  and  afterward,  drew  the  con- 
clusion that  Lincoln  was  an  idler.  Long  before,  as  a farm- 
hand, he  had  been  called  '‘bone  idle.”^  And  of  the  outer 
Lincoln,  except  under  stress  of  need,  or  in  spurts  of  enthu- 
siasm, as  in  the  earlier  years  with  Logan,  this  reckless  com- 
ment had  its  base  of  fact.  The  mighty  energy  that  was  in 
Lincoln,  a tireless,  inexhaustible  energy,  was  inward,  of  the 
spirit;  it  did  not  always  ramify  into  the  sensibilities  and 
inform  his  outer  life.  The  connecting  link  of  the  two,  his 
mere  intelligence,  though  constantly  obedient  to  demands  of 
the  outer  life,  was  not  susceptible  of  great  strain  except  on 
demand  of  the  spiritual  vision.  Hence  his  attitude  toward 
the  study  of  the  law.  It  thrilled  and  entranced  him,  called 
into  play  all  his  powers — observation,  reflection,  intelligence 
— just  so  long  as  it  appeared  in  his  imagination  a vast  crea- 
tive effort  of  the  spiritual  powers,  of  humanity  struggling 
perilously  to  see  justice  done  upon  earth,  to  let  reason  and 
the  will  of  God  prevail.  It  lost  its  hold  upon  him  the  in- 
stant it  became  a thing  of  technicalities,  of  mere  learning, 
of  statutory  dialectics. 

The  restless,  inward  Lincoln,  dwelling  deep  among  spir- 
itual shadows,  found  other  outlets  for  his  energy  during 
these  years  when  he  was  establishing  himself  at  the  bar. 
He  continued  to  be  a voracious  reader.  And  his  reading  had 
taken  a skeptical  turn.  Volney  and  Paine  were  now  his 
intimates.  The  wave  of  ultra-rationalism  that  went  over 
America  in  the  ’forties  did  not  spare  many  corners  of  the 


48 


LINCOLN 


land.  In  Springfield,  as  in  so  many  small  towns,  it  had 
two  effects : those  who  were  not  touched  by  it  hardened  into 
jealous  watchfulness,  and  their  religion  naturally  enough 
became  fiercely  combative ; those  who  responded  to  the  new 
influence  became  a little  affected  philosophically,  a bit  effer- 
vescent. The  young  men,  when  of  serious  mind,  and  all 
those  who  were  reformers  by  temperament,  tended  to  exalt 
the  new,  to  patronize,  if  not  to  ridicule  the  old.  At  Spring- 
field,  as  at  many  another  frontier  town  wracked  by  its 
growing  pains,  a Young  Men’s  Lyceum  confessed  the  world 
to  be  out  of  joint,  and  went  to  work  glibly  to  set  it  right. 
Lincoln  had  contributed  to  its  achievements.  An  oration 
of  his  on  “Perpetuation  of  Our  Free  Institutions,”^^  a mere 
rhetorical  “stunt”  in  his  worst  vein  now  deservedly  for- 
gotten, so  delighted  the  young  men  that  they  asked  to  have 
it  printed — quite  as  the  same  sort  of  young  men  to-day  print 
essays  on  cubism,  or  examples  of  free  verse  read  to  poetry 
societies.  Just  what  views  he  expressed  on  things  in  general 
among  the  young  men  and  others;  how  far  he  aired  his 
acquaintance  with  the  skeptics,  is  imperfectly  known.^^ 
However,  a rumor  got  abroad  that  he  was  an  “unbeliever,” 
which  was  the  easy  label  for  any  one  who  disagreed  in 
religion  with  the  person  who  applied  it.  The  rumor  was 
based  in  part  on  a passage  in  an  address  on  temperance. 
In  1842,  Lincoln,  who  had  always  been  abstemious,  joined 
that  Washington  Society  which  aimed  at  a reformation  in 
the  use  of  alcohol.  His  address  was  delivered  at  the  request 
of  the  society.  It  contained  this  passage,  very  illuminating 
in  its  light  upon  the  generosity,  the  real  humility  of  the 
speaker,  but  scarcely  tactful,  considering  the  religious  sus- 
ceptibility of  the  hour:  “If  they  [the  Christians]  believe 
as  they  profess,  that  Omnipotence  condescended  to  take  on 


PROSPERITY 


49 


himself  the  form  of  sinful  man,  and  as  such  die  an  ignomin- 
ious death,  surely  they  will  not  refuse  submission  to  the 
infinitely  lesser  condescension  for  the  temporal  and  perhaps 
eternal  salvation  of  a large,  erring  and  unfortunate  class 
of  their  fellow  creatures!  Nor  is  the  condescension  very 
great.  In  my  judgment  such  of  us  as  have  never  fallen 
victims  have  been  spared  more  from  the  absence  of  appe- 
tite than  from  any  mental  or  moral  superiority  over  those 
who  have.  Indeed,  I believe,  if  we  take  habitual  drunkards 
as  a class,  their  heads  and  their  hearts  will  bear  an  advan- 
tageous comparison  with  those  of  any  other  class.”^^  How 
like  that  remark  attributed  to  another  great  genius,  one 
whom  Lincoln  in  some  respects  resembled,  the  founder  of 
Methodism,  when  he  said  of  a passing  drunkard : ''There 
goes  John  Wesley,  except  for  the  Grace  of  God.’’  But 
the  frontier  zealots  of  the  ’forties  were  not  of  the  Wesley 
type.  The  stories  of  Lincoln’s  skeptical  interests,  the  insinu- 
ations which  were  promptly  read  into  this  temperance  ad- 
dress, the  fact  that  he  was  not  a church-member,  all  these 
were  seized  upon  by  a good  but  very  narrow  man,  a devoted, 
illiterate  evangelist,  Peter  Cartwright. 

In  1846,  this  religious  issue  became  a political  issue. 
The  Whigs  nominated  Lincoln  for  Congress.  It  was  another 
instance  of  personal  politics.  The  local  Whig  leaders  had 
made  some  sort  of  private  agreement,  the  details  of  which 
appear  to  be  lost,  but  according  to  which  Lincoln  now  be- 
came the  inevitable  candidate.^^  He  was  nominated  with- 
out opposition.  The  Democrats  nominated  Cartwright. 

Two  charges  were  brought  against  Lincoln:  that  he  was 
an  infidel,  and  that  he  was — of  all  things  in  the  world ! — 
an  aristocrat.  On  these  charges  the  campaign  was  fought. 
The  small  matter  of  what  he  would  do  at  Washington,  or 


50 


LINCOLN 


would  not  do,  was  brushed  aside.  Personal  politics  with 
a vengeance!  The  second  charge  Lincoln  humorously  and 
abundantly  disproved;  the  first,  he  met  with  silence. 

Remembering  Lincoln’s  unfailing  truthfulness,  remem- 
bering also  his  restless  ambition,  only  one  conclusion  can 
be  drawn  from  this  silence.  He  could  not  categorically  deny 
Cartwright’s  accusation  and  at  the  same  time  satisfy  his  own 
unsparing  conception  of  honesty.  That  there  was  no  real 
truth  in  the  charge  of  irreligion,  the  allusions  in  the  Speed 
letters  abundantly  prove.  The  tone  is  too  sincere  to  be 
doubted;  nevertheless,  they  give  no  clue  to  his  theology. 
And  for  men  like  Cartwright,  religion  was  tied  up  hand 
and  foot  in  theology.  Here  was  where  Lincoln  had  parted 
company  from  his  mother’s  world,  and  from  its  derivatives. 
Though  he  held  tenaciously  to  all  that  was  mystical  in  her 
bequest  to  him,  he  rejected  early  its  formulations.  The  evi- 
dence of  later  years  reaffirms  this  double  fact.  The  sense  of 
a spiritual  world  behind,  beyond  the  world  of  phenomena, 
grew  on  him  with  the  years ; the  power  to  explain,  to  formu- 
late that  world  was  denied  him.  He  had  no  bent  for  dogma. 
Ethically,  mystically,  he  was  always  a Christian;  dogmati- 
cally he  knew  not  what  he  was.  Therefore,  to  the  chal- 
lenge to  prove  himself  a Christian  on  purely  dogmatic 
grounds,  he  had  no  reply.  To  attempt  to  explain  what 
separated  him  from  his  accusers,  to  show  how  from  his 
point  of  view  they  were  all  Christians — although,  remem- 
bering their  point  of  view,  he  hesitated  to  say  so — to  draw 
the  line  between  mysticism  and  emotionalism,  would  have 
resulted  only  in  a worse  confusion.  Lincoln,  the  tentative 
mystic,  the  child  of  the  starlit  forest,  was  as  inexplicable 
to  Cartwright  with  his  perfectly  downright  religion,  his 
creed  of  heaven  or  hell — take  your  choice  and  be  quick  about 


PROSPERITY 


51 


it! — as  was  Lincoln  the  spiritual  sufferer  to  New  Salem,  or 
Lincoln  the  political  scientist  to  his  friends  in  the  Legis- 
lature. 

But  he  was  not  injured  by  his  silence.  The  faith  in  him 
held  by  too  many  people  was  too  well  established.  Then, 
as  always  thereafter,  whatever  he  said  or  left  unsaid,  most 
thoughtful  persons  who  came  close  to  him  sensed  him  as  a 
religious  man.  That  was  enough  for  healthy,  generous 
young  Springfield.  He  and  Cartwright  might  fight  out  their 
religious  issues  when  they  pleased,  Abe  should  have  his  term 
in  Congress.  He  was  elected  by  a good  majority. 


VI 


UNSATISFYING  RECOGNITION 

Li^oln^s  career  as  a Congressman,  1847-1 849,  was 
just  what  might  have  been  expected — his  career  in  the  Illi- 
nois Legislature  on  a larger  scale.  It  was  a pleasant,  com- 
panionable, unfruitful  episode,  with  no  political  significance. 
The  leaders  of  the  party  did  not  take  him  seriously  as  a 
possible  initiate  to  their  ranks.  His  course  was  that  of  a 
loyal  member  of  the  Whig  mass.  In  the  party  strategy, 
during  the  debates  over  the  Mexican  War  and  the  Wilmot 
Proviso,  he  did  his  full  party  duty,  voting  just  as  the  others 
did.  Only  once  did  he  attempt  anything  original — a bill  to 
emancipate  the  slaves  of  the  District,  which  was  little  more 
than  a restatement  of  his  protest  of  ten  years  before — and 
on  this  point  Congress  was  as  indifferent  as  the  Legislature 
had  been.  The  bill  was  denied  a hearing  and  never  came  to 
a vote  before  the  House.^ 

And  yet  Lincoln  did  not  fail  entirely  to  make  an  impres- 
sion at  Washington.  And  again  it  was  the  Springfield  expe- 
rience repeated.  His  companionableness  was  recognized,  his 
modesty,  his  good  nature ; above  all,  his  story-telling.  Men 
liked  him.  Plainly  it  was  his  humor,  his  droll  ways,  that 
won  them;  together  with  instant  recognition  of  his  sterling 
integrity. 

“During  the  Christmas  holidays,”  says  Ben  Perley 
Poore,  “Mr.  Lincoln  found  his  way  into  the  small  room 
used  as  the  Post  Office  of  the  House,  where  a few  genial 

52 


UNSATISFYING  RECOGNITION 


53 


reconteurs  used  to  meet  almost  every  morning  after  the 
mail  had  been  distributed  into  the  members’  boxes,  to 
exchange  such  new  stories  as  any  of  them  might  have 
acquired  since  they  had  last  met.  After  modestly  stand- 
ing at  the  door  for  several  days,  Mr.  Lincoln  was  reminded 
of  a story,  and  by  New  Year’s  he  was  recognized  as  the 
champion  story-teller  of  the  Capital.  His  favorite  seat 
was  at  the  left  of  the  open  fireplace,  tilted  back  in  his 
chair  with  his  long  legs  reaching  over  to  the  chimney 
jamb.”^ 

In  the  words  of  another  contemporary,  “Congressman 
Lincoln  was  very  fond  of  bowling  and  would  frequently 
. . . meet  other  members  in  a match  game  at  the  alley  of 

James  Casparus.  . . . He  was  an  awkward  bowler,  but 

played  the  game  with  great  zest  and  spirit  solely  for  exer- 
cise and  amusement,  and  greatly  to  the  enjoyment  and  enter- 
tainment of  the  other  players,  and  by  reason  of  his  criticisms 
and  funny  illustrations.  . . . When  it  was  known  that 

he  was  in  the  alley,  there  would  assemble  numbers  of  people 
to  witness  the  fun  which  was  anticipated  by  those  who  knew 
of  his  fund  of  anecdotes  and  jokes.  When  in  the  alley, 
surrounded  by  a crowd  of  eager  listeners,  he  indulged  with 
great  freedom  in  the  sport  of  narrative,  some  of  which  were 
very  broad.”^ 

Once,  at  least,  he  entertained  Congress  with  an  exhibi- 
tion of  his  humor,  and  this,  oddly  enough,  is  almost  the 
only  display  of  it  that  has  come  down  to  us,  first  hand. 
Lincoln’s  humor  has  become  a tradition.  Like  everything 
else  in  his  outward  life,  it  changed  gradually  with  his  slow 
devious  evolution  from  the  story-teller  of  Pigeon  Creek  to 
the  author  of  the  Gettysburg  Oration.  It  is  known  chiefly 
through  translation.  The  “Lincoln  Stories”  are  stories 


54 


LINCOLN 


some  one  else  has  told  who  may  or  may  not  have  heard 
them  told  by  Lincoln.  They  are  like  all  translations,  they 
express  the  translator  not  the  original — final  evidence  that 
Lincoln’s  appeal  as  a humorist  was  in  his  manner,  his 
method,  not  in  his  substance.  “His  laugh  was  striking. 
Such  awkward  gestures  belonged  to  no  other  man.  They 
attracted  universal  attention  from  the  old  sedate  down  to 
the  schoolboy.”^  He  was  a famous  mimic. 

Lincoln  is  himself  the  authority  that  he  did  not  invent 
his  stories.  He  picked  them  up  wherever  he  found  them, 
and  clothed  them  with  the  peculiar  drollery  of  his  telling. 
He  was  a wag  rather  than  a wit.  All  that  lives  in  the  second- 
hand repetitions  of  his  stories  is  the  mere  core,  the  original 
appropriated  thing  from  which  the  inimitable  decoration  has 
fallen  ofif.  That  is  why  the  collections  of  his  stories  are 
such  dreary  reading, — like  Carey’s  Dante,  or  Bryant’s 
Homer.  And  strange  to  say,  there  is  no  humor  in  his  letters. 
This  man  who  was  famous  as  a wag  writes  to  his  friends 
almost  always  in  perfect  seriousness,  often  sadly.  The  bit 
of  humor  that  has  been  preserved  in  his  one  comic  speech 
in  Congress, — a burlesque  of  the  Democratic  candidate  of 
1848,  Lewis  Cass, — shorn  as  it  is  of  his  manner,  his  tricks 
of  speech  and  gesture,  is  hardly  worth  repeating.^ 

Lincoln  was  deeply  humiliated  by  his  failure  to  make  a 
serious  impression  at  Washington.®  His  eyes  opened  in  a 
startled  realization  that  there  were  worlds  he  could  not 
conquer.  The  Washington  of  the  ’forties  was  far  indeed 
from  a great  capital;  it  was  as  friendly  to  conventional 
types  of  politician  as  was  Springfield  or  Vandalia.  The 
man  who  could  deal  in  ideas  as  political  counters,  the  other 
man  who  knew  the  subtleties  of  the  art  of  graft,  both  these 
were  national  as  well  as  local  figures.  Personal  politics 


UNSATISFYING  RECOGNITION 


55 


were  also  as  vicious  at  Washington  as  anywhere;  neverthe- 
less, there  was  a difference,  and  in  that  difference  lay  the 
secret  of  Lincoln’s  failure.  He  was  keen  enough  to  grasp 
the  difference,  to  perceive  the  clue  to  his  failure.  In  a 
thousand  ways,  large  and  small,  the  difference  came  home 
to  him.  It  may  all  be  symbolized  by  a closing  detail  of  his 
stay.  An  odd  bit  of  incongruity  was  the  inclusion  of  his 
name  in  the  list  of  managers  of  the  Inaugural  Ball  of  1849. 
Nothing  of  the  sort  had  hitherto  entered  into  his  experience. 
As  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  not  with  him  he  joined  “a  small  party 
of  mutual  friends”  who  attended  the  ball  together.  As  one 
of  them  relates,  “he  was  greatly  interested  in  all  that  was 
to  be  seen  and  we  did  not  take  our  departure  until  three  or 
four  o’clock  in  the  morning.”'^  What  an  ironic  picture — 
this  worthy  provincial,  the  last  word  for  awkwardness, 
socially  as  strange  to  such  a scene  as  a little  child,  spending 
the  whole  night  gazing  intently  at  everything  he  could  see, 
at  the  barbaric  display  of  wealth,  the  sumptuous  gowns,  the 
brilliant  uniforms,  the  distinguished  foreigners,  and  the 
leaders  of  America,  men  like  Webster  and  Clay,  with  their 
air  of  assured  power,  the  men  he  had  failed  to  impress. 
This  was  his  valedictory  at  Washington.  He  went  home 
and  told  Herndon  that  he  had  committed  political  suicide.® 
He  had  met  the  world  and  the  world  was  too  strong  for 
him. 

And  yet,  what  was  wrong?  He  had  been  popular  at 
Washington,  in  the  same  way  in  which  he  had  been  popular 
at  Springfield.  Why  had  the  same  sort  of  success  inspired 
him  at  Springfield  and  humiliated  him  at  Washington  ? The 
answer  was  in  the  difference  between  the  two  worlds.  Com- 
panionableness, story-telling,  at  Springfield,  led  to  influence; 
at  Washington  it  led  only  to  applause.  At  Springfield  it 


56 


LINCOLN 


was  a means;  at  Washington  it  was  an  end.  The  narrow 
circle  gave  the  good  fellow  an  opportunity  to  reveal  at  his 
leisure  everything  else  that  was  in  him;  the  larger  circle 
ruthlessly  put  him  in  his  place  as  a good  fellow  and  nothing 
more.  The  truth  was  that  in  the  Washington  of  the  ’forties, 
neither  the  inner  nor  the  outer  Lincoln  eould  by  itself  find 
lodgment.  Neither  the  lonely  mystical  thinker  nor  the 
captivating  buffoon  could  do  more  than  ripple  its  surface. 
'As  superficial  as  Springfield,  it  lacked  Springfield’s  impul- 
sive generosity.  To  the  long  record  of  its  obtuseness  it  had 
added  another  item.  The  gods  had  sent  it  a great  man  and 
it  had  no  eyes  to  see.  It  was  destined  to  repeat  the  perform- 
ance. 

And  so  Lincoln  came  home,  disappointed,  disillusioned. 
He  had  not  succeeded  in  establishing  the  slightest  claim, 
either  upon  the  country  or  his  party.  Without  such  claim 
he  had  no  ground  for  attempting  reelection.  The  frivolity 
of  the  Whig  machine  in  the  Sangamon  region  was  evinced 
by  their  rotation  agreement.  Out  of  such  grossly  personal 
politics  Lincoln  had  gone  to  Washington;  into  this  essen- 
tially corrupt  system  he  relapsed.  He  faced,  politically,  a 
blank  wall.  And  he  had  within  him  as  yet,  no  conscious- 
ness of  any  power  that  might  cleave  the  wall  asunder.  What 
was  he  to  do  next  ? 

' At  this  dangerous  moment — so  plainly  the  end  of  a 
chapter — he  was  offered  the  governorship  of  the  new  Terri- 
tory of  Oregon.  For  the  first  time  he  found  himself  at  a 
definite  parting  of  the  ways,  where  a sheer  act  of  will  was 
to  decide  things;  where  the  pressure  of  circumstance  was 
of  secondary  importance. 

In  response  to  this  crisis,  an  overlooked  part  of  him 
appeared.  The  inheritance  from  his  mother,  from  the  forest, 


UNSATISFYING  RECOGNITION 


57 


had  always  been  obvious.  But,  after  all,  he  was  the  son  not 
only  of  Nancy  and  of  the  lonely  stars,  but  also  of  shifty, 
drifty  Thomas  the  unstable.  If  it  was  not  his  paternal 
inheritance  that  revived  in  him  at  this  moment  of  confessed 
failure,  it  was  something  of  the  same  sort.  Just  as  Thomas 
had  always  by  way  of  extricating  himself  from  a failure 
taken  to  the  road,  now  Abraham,  at  a psychological  crisis, 
felt  the  same  wanderlust,  and  he  threatened  to  go  adrift. 
Some  of  his  friends  urged  him  to  accept.  ‘‘You  will  capture 
the  new  community,”  said  they,  “and  when  Oregon  becomes 
a State,  you  will  go  to  Washington  as  its  first  Senator.” 
What  a glorified  application  of  the  true  Thomasian  line  of 
thought.  Lincoln  hesitated — ^hesitated — 

And  then  the  forcible  little  lady  who  had  married  him 
put  her  foot  down.  Go  out  to  that  far-away  backwoods, 
just  when  they  were  beginning  to  get  on  in  the  world; 
when  real  prosperity  at  Springfield  was  surely  within  their 
grasp;  when  they  were  at  last  becoming  people  of  impor- 
tance, who  should  be  able  to  keep  their  own  carriage?  Not 
much ! 

Her  husband  declined  the  appointment  and  resumed  the 
practice  of  law  in  Springfield.® 


PROMISES 


VII 


THE  SECOND  START 

Stung  by  his  failure  at  Washington,  Lincoln  for  a 
time  put  his  whole  soul  into  the  study  of  the  law.  He  ex- 
plained his  failure  to  himself  as  a lack  of  mental  train- 
ing.^ There  followed  a repetition  of  his  early  years  with 
Logan,  but  with  very  much  more  determination,  and  with 
more  abiding  result. 

In  those  days  in  Illinois,  as  once  in  England,  the  judges 
held  court  in  a succession  of  towns  which  formed  a cir- 
cuit. Judge  and  lawyers  moved  from  town  to  town,  ‘‘rode 
the  circuit”  in  company, — sometimes  on  horseback,  some- 
times in  their  own  vehicles,  sometimes  by  stage.  Among 
the  reminiscences  of  Lincoln  on  the  circuit,  are  his  “poky” 
old  horse  and  his  “ramshackle”  old  buggy.  Many  and 
many  a mile,  round  and  round  the  Eighth  Judicial  Cir- 
cuit, he  traveled  in  that  humble  style.  What  thoughts  he 
brooded  on  in  his  lonely  drives,  he  seldom  told.  During 
this  period  the  cloud  over  his  inner  life  is  especially 
dense.  The  outer  life,  in  a multitude  of  reminiscences,  is 
well  known.  One  of  its  salient  details  was  the  large  pro- 
portion of  time  he  devoted  to  study. 

“Frequently,  I would  go  out  on  the  circuit  with  him,” 
writes  Herndon.  “We,  usually,  at  the  little  country  inn, 
occupied  the  same  bed.  In  most  cases,  the  beds  were  too 
short  for  him  and  his  feet  would  hang  over  the  footboard, 
thus  exposing  a limited  expanse  of  shin  bone.  Placing  his 

6i 


62 


LINCOLN 


candle  at  the  head  of  his  bed  he  would  read  and  study  for 
hours.  I have  known  him  to  stay  in  this  position  until 
two  o’clock  in  the  morning.  Meanwhile,  I and  others 
who  chanced  to  occupy  the  same  room  would  be  safely  and 
soundly  asleep.  On  the  circuit,  in  this  way,  he  studied 
Euclid  until  he  could  with  ease  demonstrate  all  the  prop- 
ositions in  the  six  books.  How  he  could  maintain  his 
equilibrium  or  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  an  abstract 
mathematical  problem,  while  Davis,  Logan,  Swett, 
Edwards  and  I,  so  industriously  and  volubly  filled  the  air 
with  our  interminable  snoring,  was  a problem  none  of  us 
could  ever  solve. 

A well-worn  copy  of  Shakespeare  was  also  his  con- 
stant companion. 

Ele  rose  rapidly  in  the  profession;  and  this  in  spite  of 
his  incorrigible  lack  of  system.  The  mechanical  side  of 
the  lawyer’s  task,  now,  as  in  the  days  with  Logan,  an- 
noyed him;  he  left  the  preparation  of  papers  to  his  junior 
partner,  as  form^erly  he  left  it  to  his  senior  partner.  But 
the  situation  had  changed  in  a very  important  way.  In 
Herndon,  Lincoln  had  for  a partner  a talented  young  man 
who  looked  up  to  him,  almost  adored  him,  who  was  quite 
willing  to  be  his  man  Friday.  Fortunately,  for  all  his 
adoration,  Herndon  had  no  desire  to  idealize  his  hero.  He 
was  not  disturbed  by  his  grotesque  or  absurd  sides. 

“He  was  proverbially  careless  as  to  his  habits,”  Hern- 
don writes.  “In  a letter  to  a fellow  lawyer  in  another 
town,  apologizing  for  his  failure  to  answer  sooner,  he 
explains : ‘First,  I have  been  very  busy  in  the  United  States 
Court;  second,  when  I received  the  letter,  I put  it  in  my 
old  hat,  and  buying  a new  one  the  next  day,  the  old  one  was 
set  aside,  so  the  letter  was  lost  sight  of  for  the  time.’  This 


THE  SECOND  START 


63 


hat  of  Lincoln’s — a silk  plug — was  an  extraordinary 
receptacle.  It  was  his  desk  and  his  memorandum  book. 
In  it  he  carried  his  bank-book  and  the  bulk  of  his  letters. 
Whenever  in  his  reading  or  researches,  he  wished  to  pre- 
serve an  idea,  he  jotted  it  down  on  an  envelope  or  stray 
piece  of  paper  and  placed  it  inside  the  lining;  afterwards, 
when  the  mem.orandum  was  needed,  there  was  only  one 
place  to  look  for  it.”  Herndon  makes  no  bones  about  con- 
fessing that  their  office  was  very  dirty.  So  neglected  was 
it  that  a young  man  of  neat  habits  who  entered  the  office 
as  a law  student  under  Lincoln  could  not  refrain  from 
cleaning  it  up,  and  the  next  visitor  exclaimed  in  aston- 
ishment, “What’s  happened  here!”^ 

“The  office,”  says  that  same  law  student,  “was  on  the 
second  floor  of  a brick  building  on  the  public  square  oppo- 
site the  courthouse.  You  went  up  a flight  of  stairs  and 
then  passed  along  a hallway  to  the  rear  office  which  was 
a medium  sized  room.  There  was  one  long  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  and  a shorter  one  running  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  forming  a T and  both  were  covered  with 
green  baize.  There  were  two  windows  which  looked  into 
the  back  yard.  In  one  corner  was  an  old-fashioned  sec- 
retary with  pigeonholes  and  a drawer;  and  here  Mr.  Lin- 
coln and  his  partner  kept  their  law  papers.  There  was 
also  a bookcase  containing  about  two  hundred  volumes  of 
law  and  miscellaneous  books.”  The  same  authority  adds, 
“There  was  no  order  in  the  office  at  all.”  Lincoln  left  all 
the  money  matters  to  Herndon.  “He  never  entered  an 
item  on  the  account  book.  If  a fee  was  paid  to  him  and 
Herndon  was  not  there,  he  would  divide  the  money,  wrap 
up  one  part  in  paper  and  place  it  in  his  partner’s  desk 
with  the  inscription,  “Case  of  Roe  versus  Doe,  Herndon’s 


64 


LINCOLN 


half.’*  He  had  an  odd  habit  of  reading  aloud  much  to  his 
partner’s  annoyance.  He  talked  incessantly;  a whole  fore- 
noon would  sometimes  go  by  while  Lincoln  occupied  the 
whole  time  telling  stories.^ 

On  the  circuit,  his  story-telling  was  an  institution. 
Two  other  men,  long  since  forgotten,  vied  with  him  as 
rival  artists  in  humorous  narrative.  These  three  used  to 
hold  veritable  tournaments.  Herndon  has  seen  ''the  little 
country  tavern  where  these  three  were  wont  to  meet  after 
an  adjournment  of  court,  crowded  almost  to  suffocation, 
with  an  audience  of  men  who  had  gathered  to  witness  the 
contest  among  the  members  of  the  strange  triumvirate.  The 
physicians  of  the  town,  all  the  lawyers,  and  not  infre- 
quently a preacher,  could  be  found  in  the  crowd  that  filled 
the  doors  and  windows.  The  yarns  they  spun  and  the 
stories  they  told  would  not  bear  repetition  here,  but  many 
of  them  had  morals  which,  while  exposing  the  weakness 
of  mankind,  stung  like  a whiplash.  Some  were,  no  doubt, 
a thousand  years  old,  with  just  enough  of  verbal  varnish 
and  alterations  of  names  and  date  to  make  them  new  and 
crisp.  By  virtue  of  the  last  named  application,  Lincoln 
was  enabled  to  draw  from  Balzac  a 'droll  story’  and  locat- 
ing it  ‘in  Egypt’*  or  in  Indiana,  pass  it  off  for  a purely 
original  conception.  ...  I have  seen  Judge  Treat,  who 
was  the  very  impersonation  of  gravity  itself,  sit  up  till  the 
last  and  laugh  until,  as  he  often  expressed  it,  'he  almost 
shook  his  ribs  loose.’  The  next  day  he  would  ascend  the 
bench  and  listen  to  Lincoln  in  a murder  trial  with  all  the 
seeming  severity  of  an  English  judge  in  wig  and  gown.”^ 

Lincoln  enjoyed  the  life  on  the  circuit.  It  was  not 
that  he  was  always  in  a gale  of  spirits;  a great  deal  of  the 


* Southern  Illinois. 


THE  SECOND  START 


65 


time  he  brooded.  His  Homeric  nonsense  alternated  with 
fits  of  gloom.  In  spite  of  his  late  hours,  whether  of  study 
or  of  story-telling,  he  was  an  early  riser.  ‘‘He  would  sit 
by  the  fire  having  uncovered  the  coals,  and  muse  and  pon- 
der and  soliloquize.”®  Besides  his  favorite  Shakespeare, 
he  had  a fondness  for  poetry  of  a very  different  sort — 
Byron,  for  example.  And  he  never  tired  of  a set  of  stan- 
zas in  the  minor  key  beginning:  “Oh,  why  should  the 
spirit  of  mortal  be  proud 

The  hilarity  of  the  circuit  was  not  by  any  means  the 
whole  of  its  charm  for  him.  Part  of  that  charm  must 
have  been  the  contrast  with  his  recent  failure  at  Washing- 
ton. This  world  he  could  master.  Here  his  humor  in- 
creased his  influence;  and  his  influence  grew  rapidly.  He 
was  a favorite  of  judges,  jury  and  the  bar.  Then,  too,  it 
was  a man’s  world.  Though  Lincoln  had  a profound  re- 
spect for  women,  he  seems  generally  to  have  been  ill  at 
ease  in  their  company.  In  what  his  friends  would  have 
called  “general  society”  he  did  not  shine.  He  was  too 
awkward,  too  downright,  too  lacking  in  the  niceties.  At 
home,  though  he  now  owned  a house  and  was  making 
what  seemed  to  him  plenty  of  money,  he  was  undoubtedly 
a trial  to  Mrs.  Lincoln’s  sense  of  propriety.  He  could 
not  rise  with  his  wife,  socially.  He  was  still  what  he  had 
become  so  long  before,  the  favorite  of  all  the  men — good 
old  Abe  Lincoln  that  you  could  tie  to  though  it  rained 
cats  and  dogs.  But  as  to  the  ladies!  Fashionable  people 
calling  on  Mrs.  Lincoln,  had  been  received  by  her  hus- 
band in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  he  totally  unabashed,  as 
oblivious  of  discrepancy  as  if  he  were  a nobleman  and  not 
a nobody.®  The  dreadful  tradition  persists  that  he  had 
been  known  at  table  to  put  his  own  knife  into  the  butter. 


66 


LINCOLN 


How  safe  to  assume  that  many  things  were  said  commis- 
erating poor  Mrs.  Lincoln  who  had  a bear  for  a husband. 
And  some  people  noticed  that  Lincoln  did  not  come  home 
at  week-ends  during  term-time  as  often  as  he  might.  Per- 
haps it  meant  something ; perhaps  it  did  not.  But  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  the  jovial  itinerant  life  of  the  cir- 
cuit was  the  life  for  him — at  least  in  the  early  ’fifties.  That 
it  was,  and  also  that  he  was  becoming  known  as  a law- 
yer, is  evinced  by  his  refusal  of  a flattering  invitation  to 
enter  a prosperous  firm  in  Chicago. 

Out  of  all  this  came  a deepening  of  his  power  to  reach 
and  impress  men  through  words.  The  tournament  of  the 
story-tellers  was  a lawyers’  tournament.  The  central  fig- 
ure was  reading,  studying,  thinking,  as  never  in  his  life 
before.  Though  his  fables  remained  as  broad  as  ever, 
the  merely  boisterous  character  ceased  to  predominate. 
The  ethical  bent  of  his  mind  came  to  the  surface.  His 
friends  were  agreed  that  what  they  remembered  chiefly 
of  his  stories  was  not  the  broad  part  of  them,  but  the  moral 
that  was  in  them.'*  And  they  had  no  squeamishness  as 
critics  of  the  art  of  fable-making. 

His  ethical  sense  of  things,  his  companionableness,  the 
utterly  non-censorious  cast  of  his  mind,  his  power  to  evolve 
yarns  into  parables — all  these  made  him  irresistible  with 
a jury.  It  was  a saying  of  his:  ‘Tf  I can  divest  this 
case  of  technicalities  and  swing  it  to  the  jury,  I’ll  win 
it.”i^ 

But  there  was  not  a trace  in  him  of  that  unscrupulous- 
ness usually  attributed  to  the  “jury  lawyer.”  Few  things 
show  more  plainly  the  central  unmiovableness  of  his  char- 
acter than  his  immunity  to  the  lures  of  jury  speaking.  To 
use  his  power  over  an  audience  for  his  own  enjoyment, 


THE  SECOND  START 


67 


for  an  interested  purpose,  for  any  purpose  except  to  afford 
pleasure,  or  to  see  justice  done,  was  for  him  constitution- 
ally impossible.  Such  a performance  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  will.  In  a way,  his  nature,  mysterious  as  it 
was,  was  also  the  last  word  for  simplicity,  a terrible  simplic- 
ity. The  exercise  of  his  singular  powers  was  irrevocably 
conditioned  on  his  own  faith  in  the  moral  justification  of 
what  he  was  doing.  He  had  no  patience  with  any  concep- 
tion of  the  lawyer’s  function  that  did  not  make  him  the  de- 
voted instrument  of  justice.  For  the  law  as  a game,  for 
legal  strategy,  he  felt  contempt.  Never  under  any  condi- 
tions would  he  attempt  to  get  for  a client  more  than  he 
was  convinced  the  client  in  justice  ought  to  have.  The 
first  step  in  securing  his  services  was  always  to  persuade 
him  that  one’s  cause  was  just.  He  sometimes  threw  up  a 
case  in  open  court  because  the  course  of  it  had  revealed 
deception  on  the  part  of  the  client.  At  times  he  expressed 
his  disdain  of  the  law’s  mere  commercialism  in  a stinging 
irony. 

‘Tn  a closely  contested  civil  suit,”  writes  his  associ- 
ate, Ward  Hill  Lamon,  ‘‘Lincoln  proved  an  account  for 
his  client,  who  was,  though  he  did  not  know  it  at  the  time, 
a very  slippery  fellow.  The  opposing  attorney  then  proved 
a receipt  clearly  covering  the  entire  cause  of  action.  By 
the  time  he  was  through  Lincoln  was  missing.  The  court 
sent  for  him  to  the  hotel.  ‘Tell  the  Judge,’  said  he,  ‘that 
I can’t  come ; my  hands  are  dirty  and  I came  over  to  clean 
them: 

“Discourage  litigation,”  he  wrote.  “Persuade  your 
neighbors  to  compromise  whenever  you  can.  Point  out 
to  them  how  the  nominal  winner  is  often  a real  loser,  in 
fees,  expenses,  and  waste  of  time.  As  a peacemaker,  the 


68 


LINCOLN 


lawyer  has  a superior  opportunity  of  being  a good  man. 
There  will  still  be  business  enough.”^^ 

He  held  his  moral  and  professional  views  with  the 
same  inflexibility  with  which  he  held  his  political  views. 
Once  he  had  settled  upon  a conviction  or  an  opinion,  noth- 
ing could  move  him.  He  was  singularly  stubborn,  and  yet, 
in  all  the  minor  matters  of  life,  in  all  his  merely  personal 
concerns,  in  everything  except  his  basal  ideas,  he  was  pli- 
able to  a degree.  He  could  be  talked  into  almost  any  con- 
cession of  interest.  He  once  told  Herndon  he  thanked  God 
that  he  had  not  been  born  a woman  because  he  found  it 
so  hard  to  refuse  any  request  made  of  him.  His  outer 
easiness,  his  lack  of  self-assertion, — as  most  people  under- 
stand self-assertion, — persist  in  an  amusing  group  of  anec- 
dotes of  the  circuit.  Though  he  was  a favorite  with  the 
company  at  every  tavern,  those  little  demagogues,  the  tav- 
ern-keepers, quickly  found  out  that  he  could  be  safely  put 
upon.  In  the  minute  but  important  favoritism  of  tavern 
life,  in  the  choice  of  rooms,  in  the  assignment  of  seats  at 
table,  in  the  distribution  of  delicacies,  easy-going  Lincoln  ' 
was  ever  the  first  one  to  be  ignored.  ‘'He  never  com-  i 
plained  of  the  food,  bed,  or  lodgings,’^  says  a judge  of  i 
the  circuit,  David  Davis.  ‘Tf  every  other  fellow  i 
grumbled  at  the  bill  of  fare  which  greeted  us  at  many  of  i 
the  dingy  taverns,  Lincoln  said  nothing.”^^ 

But  his  complacency  was  of  the  surface  only.  His  ■ 
ideas  were  his  own.  He  held  to  them  with  dogged  te-  i 
nacity.  Herndon  was  merely  the  first  of  several  who  dis-  : 
cerned  on  close  familiarity  Lincoln’s  inward  inflexibility.  ; 
‘T  was  never  conscious,”  he  writes,  “of  having  made 
much  of  an  impression  on  Mr.  Lincoln,  nor  do  I believe  I 
ever  changed  his  views.  I will  go  further  and  say  that 


i 


THE  SECOND  START 


69 


from  the  profound  nature  of  his  conclusions  and  the  la- 
bored method  by  which  he  arrived  at  them,  no  man  is 
entitled  to  the  credit  of  having  either  changed  or  greatly 
modified  them.”^^ 

In  these  years  of  the  early  ’fifties,  Herndon  had  much 
occasion  to  test  his  partner’s  indifference  to  other  men’s 
views,  his  tenacious  adherence  to  his  own.  Herndon  had 
become  an  Abolitionist.  He  labored  to  convert  Lincoln; 
but  it  was  a lost  labor.  The  Sphinx  in  a glimmer  of  sun- 
shine was  as  unassailable  as  the  cheery,  fable-loving,  in- 
flexible Lincoln.  The  younger  man  would  work  himself 
up,  and,  flushed  with  ardor,  warn  Lincoln  against  his  ap- 
parent conserv^atism  when  the  needs  of  the  hour  were  so 
great;  but  his  only  answer  would  be,  “Billy,  you  are  too 
rampant  and  spontaneous.”^® 

Nothing  could  move  him  from  his  fixed  conviction 
that  the  temper  of  Abolitionism  made  it  pernicious.  He 
persisted  in  classifying  it  with  slavery, — both  of  equal 
danger  to  free  institutions.  He  took  occasion  to  reassert 
this  belief  in  the  one  important  utterance  of  a political  na- 
ture that  commemorates  this  period.  An  oration  on  the 
death  of  Henry  Clay,  contains  the  sentence:  “Cast  into 
life  when  slavery  was  already  widely  spread  and  deeply 
sealed,  he  did  not  perceive,  as  I think  no  wise  man  has 
perceived,  how  it  could  be  at  once  eradicated  without  pro- 
ducing a greater  evil  even  to  the  cause  of  human  liberty 
itself.”i« 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Abolitionists  were  never 
strongly  national  in  sentiment.  In  certain  respects  they 
remind  one  of  the  extreme  “internationals”  of  to-day. 
Their  allegiance  was  not  first  of  all  to  society,  nor  to 
governments,  but  to  abstract  ideas.  For  all  such-  attitudes 


70 


LINCOLN 


in  political  science,  Lincoln  had  an  instinctive  aversion. 
He  was  permeated  always,  by  his  sense  of  the  community, 
of  the  obligation  to  work  in  terms  of  the  community.  Even 
the  prejudices,  the  shortsightedness  of  the  community 
were  things  to  be  considered,  to  be  dealt  with  tenderly. 
Hence  his  unwillingness  to  force  reforms  upon  a com- 
munity not  ripe  to  receive  them.  In  one  of  his  greatest 
speeches  occurs  the  dictum:  “A  universal  feeling  whether 
well  or  ill-founded,  can  not  be  safely  disregarded.”^^ 
Anticipating  such  ideas,  he  made  in  his  Clay  oration,  a 
startling  denunciation  of  both  the  extreme  factions  of 
1852: 

“Those  (Abolitionists)  who  would  shiver  into  frag- 
ments the  union  of  these  States,  tear  to  tatters  its  now 
venerated  Constitution,  and  even  burn  the  last  copy  of  the 
Bible  rather  than  slavery  should  continue  a single  hour; 
together  with  all  their  more  halting  sympathizers,  have 
received  and  are  receiving  their  just  execration;  and  the 
name  and  opinion  and  influence  of  Mr.  Clay  are  fully  and, 
as  I trust,  effectually  and  enduringly  arrayed  against 
them.  But  I would  also  if  I could,  array  his  name,  opinion 
and  influence  against  the  opposite  extreme,  against  a few, 
but  increasing  number  of  men  who,  for  the  sake  of  per- 
petuating slavery,  are  beginning  to  assail  and  ridicule  the 
white  man’s  charter  of  freedom,  the  declaration  that  ‘all 
men  are  created  free  and  equal’ 

In  another  passage  he  stated  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  central  inspiration  of  Clay.  Had  he  been  thinking  of 
himself,  he  could  not  have  foreshadowed  more  exactly  the 
basal  drift  of  all  his  future  as  a statesman: 

“He  loved  his  country  partly  because  it  was  his  own 


THE  SECOND  START 


71 


country,  and  mostly  because  it  was  a free  country;  and  he 
•burned  with  a zeal  for  its  advancement,  prosperity,  and 
glory,  because  he  saw  in  such  the  advancement,  prosperity 
and  glory  of  human  liberty,  human  right  and  human 
nature.’'^® 


VIII 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 

Meanwhile,  great  things  were  coming  forward  at 
Washington.  They  centered  about  a remarkable  man 
with  whom  Lincoln  had  hitherto  formed  a curious  paral- 
lel, by  whom  hitherto  he  had  been  completely  overshad- 
owed. Stephen  Arnold  Douglas  was  prosecuting  attor- 
ney at  Springfield  when  Lincoln  began  the  practice  of 
law.  They  were  in  the  Legislature  together.  Both  courted 
Mary  Todd.  Soon  afterward,  Douglas  had  distanced  his 
rival.  When  Lincoln  went  to  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives as  a Whig,  Douglas  went  to  the  Senate  as  a Demo- 
crat. While  Lincoln  was  failing  at  Washington,  Douglas 
was  building  a national  reputation.  In  the  hubbub  that 
followed  the  Compromise  of  1850,  while  Lincoln,  aban- 
doning politics,  immersed  himself  in  the  law,  Douglas  ren- 
dered a service  to  the  country  by  defeating  a movement 
in  Illinois  to  reject  the  Compromise.  When  the  Demo- 
cratic National  Convention  assembled  in  1852,  he  was 
sufficiently  prominent  to  obtain  a considerable  vote  for  the 
presidential  nomination. 

The  dramatic  contrast  of  these  two  began  with  their 
physical  appearance.  Douglas  was  so  small  that  he  had 
been  known  to  sit  on  a friend’s  knee  while  arguing  politics. 
But  his  energy  of  mind,  his  indomitable  force  of  charac-  1 
ter,  made  up  for  his  tiny  proportions.  “The  Little  Giant” 
was  a term  of  endearment  applied  to  him  by  his  follow- 

72 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 


73 


ers.  The  mental  contrast  was  equally  marked.  Scarcely 
a quality  in  Lincoln  that  was  not  reversed  in  Douglas — 
deliberation,  gradualness,  introspection,  tenacity,  were  the 
characteristics  of  Lincoln’s  mind.  The  mind  of  Douglas 
was  first  of  all  facile.  He  was  extraordinarily  quick.  In 
political  strategy  he  could  sense  a new  situation,  wheel  to 
meet  it,  throw  overboard  well-established  plans,  devise 
new  ones,  all  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye.  People  who  could 
not  understand  such  rapidity  of  judgment  pronounced  him 
insincere,  or  at  least,  an  opportunist.  That  he  did  not 
have  the  deep  inflexibility  of  Lincoln  may  be  assumed ; that 
his  convictions,  such  as  they  were,  did  not  have  an  ethical 
cast  may  be  safely  asserted.  Nevertheless,  he  was  a great 
force,  an  immense  human  power,  that  did  not  change  its 
course  without  good  reason  of  its  own  sort.  Far  more 
than  a mere  opportunist.  Politically,  he  summed  up  a 
change  that  was  coming  over  the  Democratic  party.  Janus- 
like,  he  had  two  faces,  one  for  his  constituents,  one  for 
his  colleagues.  To  the  voter  he  was  still  a Jeffersonian, 
with  whom  the  old  phraseology  of  the  party,  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  fraternity,  were  still  the  catch- words.  To  his  asso- 
ciates in  the  Senate  he  was  essentially  an  aristocrat,  labor- 
ing to  advance  interests  that  were  careless  of  the  rights  of 
man.  A later  age  has  accused  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States  of  being  the  citadel  of  Big  Business.  Waiving  the 
latter  view,  the  historian  may  assert  that  something  sug- 
gestive of  Big  Business  appeared  in  our  politics  in  the 
’fifties,  and  was  promptly  made  at  home  in  the  Senate. 
Perhaps  its  first  definite  manifestation  was  a new  activ- 
ity on  the  part  of  the  great  slave-holders.  To  invoke 
again  the  classifications  of  later  points  of  view,  certain  of 
our  historians  to-day  think  they  can  see  in  the  ’fifties  a 


74 


LINCOLN 


virtual  slavery  trust,  a combine  of  slave  interests  con- 
trolled by  the  magnates  of  the  institution,  and  having  as 
real,  though  informal,  an  existence  as  has  the  Steel  Trust 
or  the  Beef  Trust  in  our  own  time.  This  powerful  inter- 
est allied  itself  with  the  capitalists  of  the  Northeast.  In 
modem  phraseology,  they  aimed  to  ‘‘finance’'  the  slave  in- 
terest from  New  York.  And  for  a time  the  alliance  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  this.  The  South  went  entirely  upon 
credit.  It  bought  and  borrowed  heavily  in  the  East.  New 
York  furnished  the  money. 

Had  there  been  nothing  further  to  consider,  the  inva- 
sion of  the  Senate  by  Big  Business  in  the  ’fifties  might 
not  have  taken  place.  But  there  was  something  else. 
Slavery’s  system  of  agriculture  was  excessively  wasteful. 
To  be  highly  profitable  it  required  virgin  soil,  and  the 
financial  alliance  demanded  high  profits.  Early  in  the  ’fif- 
ties, the  problem  of  Big  Business  was  the  acquisition  of 
fresh  soil  for  slavery.  The  problem  entered  politics  with 
the  question  how  could  this  be  brought  about  without  ap- 
pearing to  contradict  democracy?  The  West  also  had  its 
incipient  Big  Business.  It  hinged  upon  railways.  Now 
that  California  had  been  acquired,  with  a steady  stream 
of  migration  westward,  with  all  America  dazzled  more  or 
less  by  gold-mines  and  Pacific  trade,  a transcontinental 
railway  was  a Western  dream.  But  what  course  should 
it  take,  what  favored  regions  were  to  become  its  immedi- 
ate beneficiaries?  Here  was  a chance  for  great  jockeying 
among  business  interests  in  Congress,  for  slave-holders, 
money-lenders,  railway  promoters  to  manipulate  deals  to 
their  hearts’  content.  They  had  been  doing  so  amid  a high  ' 
complication  of  squabbling,  while  Douglas  was  traveling  j 
in  Europe  during  1853.  When  he  returned  late  in  the 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 


75 


year,  the  unity  of  the  Democratic  machine  in  Congress 
was  endangered  by  these  disputes.  Douglas  at  once  at- 
tacked the  problem  of  party  harmony.  He  threw  himself 
into  the  tavsk  with  all  his  characteristic  quickness,  all  his 
energy  and  resourcefulness. 

By  this  time  the  problem  contained  five  distinct  fac- 
tors: The  upper  Northeast  wanted  a railroad  starting  at 
Chicago.  The  Central  West  wanted  a road  from  St. 
Louis.  The  Southwest  wanted  a road  from  New  Orleans, 
or  at  least,  the  frustration  of  the  two  Northern  schemes. 
Big  Business  wanted  new  soil  for  slavery.  The  Com.pro- 
mise  of  1850  stood  in  the  way  of  the  extension  of  slave 
territory. 

If  Douglas  had  had  any  serious  convictions  opposed  to 
slavery  the  last  of  the  five  factors  would  have  brought 
him  to  a standstill.  Fortunately  for  him  as  a party  strate- 
gist, he  was  indifferent.  Then,  too,  he  firmly  believed  that 
slavery  could  never  thrive  iif  the  West  because  of  climatic 
conditions.  ^'Man  might  propose,  but  physical  geography 
would  dispose.”^  On  both  counts  it  seemed  to  him  imma- 
terial what  concessions  be  made  to  slavery  extension 
northwestward.  Therefore,  he  dismissed  this  considera- 
tion and  applied  himself  to  the  harmonization  of  the  four 
business  factors  involved.  The  result  was  a famous  com- 
promise inside  a party.  His  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill  created 
two  new  territories,  one  lying  westward  from  Chicago; 
one  lying  westward  from  St.  Louis.  It  also  repealed  the 
Missouri  Compromise  and  gave  the  inhabitants  of,  each 
territory  the  right  to  decide  for  themselves  whether  or  not 
slavery  should  be  permitted  in  their  midst.  That  is  to 
say,  both  to  the  railway  promoter  and  the  slavery  finan- 
cier, it  extended  equal  governmental  protection,  but  it 


76 


LINCOLN 


promised  favors  to  none,  and  left  each  faction  to  rise  or 
fall  in  the  free  competition  of  private  enterprise.  Why 
was  not  this,  remembering  Douglas’s  assumptions,  a mas- 
ter-stroke ? 

He  had  expected,  of  course,  denunciation  by  the  Abo- 
litionists. He  considered  it  immaterial.  But  he  was  not 
in  the  least  prepared  for  what  happened.  A storni  burst. 
It  was  fiercest  in  his  own  State.  ‘Traitor,”  “Arnold,” 
“Judas,”  were  the  pleasant  epithets  fired  at  him  in  a be- 
wildering fusillade.  He  could  not  understand  it.  Some- 
thing other  than  mere  Abolitionism  had  been  aroused  by 
his  great  stroke.  But  what  was  it?  Why  did  men  who 
were  not  Abolitionists  raise  a hue  and  cry?  Especially, 
why  did  many  Democrats  do  so?  Amazed,  puzzled,  but 
as  always  furiously  valiant,  Douglas  hurried  home  to 
join  battle  with  his  assailants.  He  entered  on  a campaign 
of  speech-making.  On  October  3,  1854,  he  spoke  at  Spring- 
field.  His  enemies,  looking  about  for  the  strongest  popu- 
lar speaker  they  could  find,  chose  Lincoln.  The  next  day 
he  replied  to  Douglas. 

The  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill  had  not  affected  any  change 
in  Lincoln’s  thinking.  His  steady,  consistent  development 
as  a political  thinker  had  gone  on  chiefly  in  silence  ever 
since  his  Protest  seventeen  years  before.  He  was  still  in- 
tolerant of  Abolitionism,  still  resolved  to  leave  slavery  to 
die  a natural  death  in  the  States  where  it  was  established. 
He  defended  the  measure  which  most  offended  the  Aboli- 
tionists, the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.  He  had  appeared  as 
counsel  for  a man  who  claimed  a runaway  slave  as  his 
property.^  None  the  less,  the  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill  had 
brought  him  to  his  feet,  wheeled  him  back  from  law  into 
politics,  begun  a new  chapter.  The  springs  of  action  in 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 


77 


his  case  were  the  factor  which  Douglas  had  overlooked, 
which  in  all  his  calculations  he  had  failed  to  take  into 
account,  which  was  destined  to  destroy  him. 

Lincoln,  no  less  than  Douglas,  had  sensed  the  fact  that 
money  was  becoming  a power  in  American  politics.  He 
saw  that  money  and  slavery  tended  to  become  allies  with 
the  inevitable  result  of  a shift  of  gravity  in  the  American 
social  system.  ‘‘Humanity”  had  once  been  the  American 
shibboleth ; it  was  giving  place  to  a new  shibboleth — “pros- 
perity.” And  the  people  who  were  to  control  and  admin- 
ister prosperity  were  the  rich.  The  rights  of  man  were 
being  superseded  by  the  rights  of  wealth.  Because  of  its 
place  in  this  new  coalition  of  non-democratic  influences, 
slavery,  to  Lincoln’s  mind,  was  assuming  a new  role,  “be- 
ginning,” as  he  had  said,  in  the  Clay  oration,  “to  assail 
and  ridicule  the  white  man’s  charter  of  freedom,  the  dec- 
laration that  ‘all  men  are  created  free  and  equal.’  ” 

That  phrase,  “the  white  man’s  charter  of  freedom,” 
had  become  Lincoln’s  shibboleth.  Various  utterances  and 
written  fragments  of  the  summer  of  1854,  reveal  the  in- 
tensity of  his  preoccupation. 

“Equality  in  society  beats  inequality,  whether  the  latter 
be  of  the  British  aristocratic  sort  or  of  the  domestic  slavery 
sort.”3 

“If  A can  prove,  however  conclusively,  that  he  may  of 
right  enslave  B,  why  may  not  B snatch  the  same  argument 
and  prove  equally  that  he  may  enslave  A?  You  say  A is 
white  and  B is  black.  It  is  color  then;  the  lighter  having 
the  right  to  enslave  the  darker?  Take  care.  By  this  rule 
you  are  to  be  slave  to  the  first  man  you  meet  with  a fairer 
skin  than  your  own.  You  do  not  mean  color  exactly? 
You  mean  the  whites  are  intellectually  the  superiors  of  the 


78 


LINCOLN 


blacks,  and  therefore  have  the  right  to  enslave  them? 
Take  care  again.  By  this  rule  you  are  to  be  slave  to  the 
first  man  you  meet  with  an  intellect  superior  to  your  own. 
But,  you  say,  it  is  a question  of  interest,  and  if  you  make 
it  your  interest,  you  have  the  right  to  enslave  another. 
Very  well.  And  if  he  can  make  it  his  interest,  he  has  the 
right  to  enslave  you.^’^ 

Speaking  of  slavery  to  a fellow  lawyer,  he  said : “It 
is  the  most  glittering,  ostentatious,  and  displaying  prop- 
erty in  the  world;  and  now,  if  a young  man  goes  court- 
ing, the  only  inquiry  is  how  many  negroes  he  or  his  lady 
love  owns.  The  love  of  slave  property  is  swallowing  up 
every  other  mercenery  possession.  Its  ownership  betok- 
ened not  only  the  possession  of  wealth,  but  indicated  the 
gentleman  of  leisure  who  was  above  and  scorned  labor. 

It  was  because  of  these  views,  because  he  saw  slavery 
allying  itself  with  the  spread  of  plutocratic  ideals,  that 
Lincoln  entered  the  battle  to  prevent  its  extension.  He 
did  SO  in  his  usual  cool,  determined  way. 

Though  his  first  reply  to  Douglas  was  not  recorded, 
his  second,  made  at  Peoria  twelve  days  later,  still  exists.® 
It  is  a landmark  in  his  career.  It  sums  up  all  his  long, 
slow  development  in  political  science,  lays  the  abiding  foun- 
dation of  everything  he  thought  thereafter.  In  this  great 
speech,  the  end  of  his  novitiate,  he  rings  the  changes  on 
the  white  man’s  charter  of  freedom.  He  argues  that  the 
extension  of  slavery  tends  to  discredit  republican  institu- 
tions, and  to  disappoint  “the  Liberal  party  throughout  the 
world.”  The  heart  of  his  argument  is : 

“Whether  slavery  shall  go  into  Nebraska  or  other  new 
Territories  is  not  a matter  of  exclusive  concern  to  the 
people  who  may  go  there.  The  whole  nation  is  interested 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 


79 


that  the  best  use  shall  be  made  of  these  Territories.  We 
want  them  for  homes  for  free  white  people.  This  they 
can  not  be  to  any  considerable  extent,  if  slavery  shall  be 
planted  within  them.  Slave  States  are  places  for  poor 
white  people  to  remove  from,  not  remove  to.  New  Free 
States  are  the  places  for  poor  people  to  go  to  and  better  their 
condition.  For  this  use  the  nation  needs  these  Territories.” 

The  speech  was  a masterpiece  of  simplicity,  of  lucidity. 
It  showed  the  great  jury  lawyer  at  his  best.  Its  temper 
was  as  admirable  as  its  logic;  not  a touch  of  anger  nor  of 
vituperation. 

‘T  have  no  prejudice  against  the  Southern  people,” 
said  he.  ‘They  are  just  what  we  would  be  in  their  situation. 
If  slavery  did  not  exist  among  them,  they  would  not  intro- 
duce it.  If  it  did  now  exist  among  us,  we  should  not  in- 
stantly give  it  up.  This  I believe  of  the  masses  Nofth  and 
South.  . . . 

‘‘When  Southern  people  tell  us  that  they  are  no  more 
responsible  for  the  origin  of  slavery  than  we  are,  I 
acknowledge  the  fact.  When  it  is  said  that  the  institu- 
tion exists  and  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  rid  of  in  any 
satisfactory  ^ay,  I can  understand  and  appreciate  the  say- 
ing. I surely  will  not  blame  them  for  not  doing  what  I 
should  not  know  how  to  do  myself.  If  all  earthly  power 
were  given  me,  I should  not  know  what  to  do  as  to  the 
existing  institution.” 

His  instinctive  aversion  to  fanaticism  found  expression 
in  a plea  for  the  golden  mean  in  politics. 

“Some  men,  mostly  Whigs,  who  condemn  the  repeal 
of  the  Missouri  Compromise,  nevertheless  hesitate  to  go 
for  its  restoration  lest  they  be  thrown  in  company  with 
the  Abolitionists.  Will  they  allow  me  as  an  old  Whig,  to 


8o 


LINCOLN 


tell  them  good  humoredly  that  I think  this  is  very  silly. 
Stand  with  anybody  that  stands  right.  Stand  with  him 
while  he  is  right  and  part  with  him  when  he  goes  wrong. 
Stand  with  the  Abolitionist  in  restoring  the  Missouri 
Compromise,  and  stand  against  him  when  he  attempts  to 
repeal  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.  In  the  latter  case  you 
stand  with  the  Southern  dis-unionist.  What  of  that? 
You  are  still  right.  In  both  cases  you  are  right.  In  both 
cases  you  expose  the  dangerous  extremes.  In  both  you 
stand  on  middle  ground  and  hold  the  ship  level  and  steady. 
In  both  you  are  national,  and  nothing  less  than  national. 
This  is  the  good  old  Whig  ground.  To  desert  such  ground 
because  of  any  company  is  to  be  less  than  a Whig — less 
than  a man — less  than  an  American.’' 

These  two  speeches  against  Douglas  made  an  immense 
impression.  Byron-like,  Lincoln  waked  up  and  found 
himself  famous.  Thereupon,  his  ambition  revived.  A 
Senator  was  to  be  chosen  that  autumn.  Why  might  not 
this  be  the  opportunity  to  retrieve  his  failure  in  Congress? 
Shortly  after  the  Peoria  speech,  he  was  sending  out  notes 
like  this  to  prominent  politicians: 

‘^Dear  Sir:  You  used  to  express  a good  deal  of  par- 
tiality for  me,  and  if  you  are  still  so,  now  is  the  time. 
Some  friends  here  are  really  for  me  for  the  United  States 
Senate,  and  I should  be  very  grateful  if  you  could  mal<e  a 
mark  for  me  among  your  members  [of  the  Legislature].”’’^ 

When  the  Legislature  assembled,  it  was  found  to  com- 
prise four  groups:  the  out-and-out  Democrats  who  would 
stand  by  Douglas  through  thick  and  thin,  and  vote  only 
for  his  nominee;  the  bolting  Democrats  who  would  not 
vote  for  a Douglas  man,  but  whose  party  rancor  was  so 
great  that  they  would  throw  their  votes  away  rather  than 


A RETURN  TO  POLITICS 


8i 


give  them  to  a Whig;  such  enemies  of  Douglas  as  were 
willing  to  vote  for  a Whig;  the  remainder. 

The  Democrats  supported  Governor  Matteson;  the  can- 
didate of  the  second  group  was  Lyman  Trumbull;  the 
Whigs  supported  Lincoln.  After  nine  exciting  ballots, 
Matteson  had  forty-seven  votes,  Trumbull  thirty-five,  Lin- 
coln fifteen.  As  the  bolting  Democrats  were  beyond  com- 
promise, Lincoln  determined  to  sacrifice  himself  in  order 
to  defeat  Matteson.  Though  the  fifteen  protested  against 
deserting  him,  he  required  them  to  do  so.  On  the  tenth 
ballot,  they  transferred  their  votes  to  Trumbull  and  he 
was  elected.® 

Douglas  had  met  his  first  important  defeat.  His  policy 
had  been  repudiated  in  his  own  State.  And  it  was  Lin- 
coln who  had  formulated  the  argument  against  him,  who 
had  held  the  balance  of  power,  and  had  turned  the  scale. 


IX 


THE  LITERARY  STATESMAN 

Lincoln  had  found  at  last  a mode  and  an  opportunity 
for  concentrating  all  his  powers  in  a way  that  could  have 
results.  He  had  discovered  himself  as  a man  of  letters. 
The  great  speeches  of  1854  were  not  different  in  a way 
from  the  previous  speeches  that  were  without  results.  And 
yet  they  were  wholly  different.  Just  as  Lincoln’s  version 
of  an  old  tale  made  of  that  tale  a new  thing,  so  Lincoln’s 
version  of  an  argument  made  of  it  a different  thing  from 
other  men’s  versions.  The  oratory  of  1854  was  not  state- 
craft in  any  ordinary  sense.  It  was  art.  Lincoln  the  artist, 
who  had  slowly  developed  a great  literary  faculty,  had 
chanced  after  so  many  rebuffs  on  good  fortune.  His  cause 
stood  in  urgent  need  of  just  what  he  could  give.  It  was 
one  of  those  moments  when  a new  political  force,  having 
not  as  yet  any  opening  for  action,  finds  salvation  in  the 
phrase-maker,  in  the  literary  artist  who  can  embody  it  in 
words. 

During  the  next  five  years  and  more,  Lincoln  was  the 
recognized  offset  to  Douglas.  His  fame  spread  from  Illi- 
nois in  both  directions.  He  was  called  to  Iowa  and  to  Ohio 
as  the  advocate  of  all  advocates  who  could  undo  the  effect 
of  Douglas.  His  fame  traveled  eastward.  The  culmination 
of  the  period  of  literary  leadership  was  his  famous  speech 
at  Cooper  Union  in  February,  i860. 

82 


THE  LITERARY  STATESMAN 


83 


It  was  inevitable  that  he  should  go  along  with  the  anti- 
slavery coalition  which  adopted  the  name  of  the  Repub- 
lican party.  But  his  natural  deliberation  kept  him  from 
being  one  of  its  founders.  An  attempt  of  its  founders  to 
appropriate  him  after  the  triumph  at  Springfield,  in  October, 
1854,  met  with  a rebuff.^  Nearly  a year  and  a half  went  by 
before  he  affiliated  himself  with  the  new  party.  But  once 
having  made  up  his  mind,  he  went  forward  whole-heartedly. 
At  the  State  Convention  of  Illinois  Republicans  in  1856  he 
made  a speech  that  has  not  been  recorded  but  which  is  a 
tradition  for  moving  oratory.  That  same  year  a consider- 
able number  of  votes  were  cast  for  Lincoln  for  Vice-Presi- 
dent in  the  Republican  National  Convention. 

But  all  these  were  mere  details.  The  great  event  of  the 
years  between  1854  and  i860  was  his  contest  with  Douglas. 
It  was  a battle  of  wits,  a great  literary  duel.  Fortunately 
for  Lincoln,  his  part  was  played  altogether  on  his  own  soil, 
under  conditions  in  which  he  was  entirely  at  his  ease,  where 
nothing  conspired  with  his  enemy  to  embarrass  him. 

Douglas  had  a far  more  difficult  task.  Unforeseen 
complications  rapidly  forced  him  to  change  his  policy,  to 
meet  desertion  and  betrayal  in  his  own  ranks.  These  were 
terrible  years  when  fierce  events  followed  one  another  in 
quick  succession — the  rush  of  both  slave-holders  and  aboli- 
tionists into  Kansas;  the  cruel  war  along  the  Wakarusa 
River;  the  sack  of  Lawrence  by  the  pro-slavery  party;  the 
massacre  by  John  Brown  at  Pottawatomie;  the  diatribes 
of  Sumner  in  the  Senate ; the  assault  on  Sumner  by  Brooks. 

-In  the  midst  of  this  carnival  of  ferocity  came  the  Dred 
Bcott  decision,  cutting  under  the  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill, 
denying  to  the  people  of  a Territory  the  right  to  legislate 
on  slavery,  and  giving  to  all  slave-holders  the  right  to  settle 


84 


LINCOLN 


with  their  slaves  anywhere  they  pleased  outside  a Free  State. 
This  famous  decision  repudiated  Douglas’s  policy  of  leaving 
all  such  questions  to  local  autonomy  and  to  private  enter- 
prise. For  a time  Douglas  made  no  move  to  save  his  policy. 
But  when  President  Buchanan  decided  to  throw  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Administration  on  the  side  of  the  pro-slavery 
party  in  Kansas,  Douglas  was  up  in  arms.  When  it  was 
proposed  to  admit  Kansas  with  a constitution  favoring 
slavery,  but  which  had  not  received  the  votes  of  a majority 
of  the  inhabitants,  Douglas  voted  with  the  Republicans  to 
defeat  admission.  Whereupon  the  Democratic  party  ma- 
chine and  the  Administration  turned  upon  him  without 
mercy.  He  stood  alone  in  a circle  of  enemies.  At  no 
other  time  did  he  show  so  many  of  the  qualities  of  a great 
leader.  Battling  with  Lincoln  in  the  popular  forum  on  the 
one  hand,  he  was  meeting  daily  on  the  other  assaults  by  a 
crowd  of  brilliant  opponents  in  Congress.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  playing  a consummate  game  of  political  strategy, 
struggling  against  immense  odds  to  recover  his  hold  on  Illi> 
nois.  The  crisis  would  come  in  1858  when  he  would  have 
to  go  before  the  Legislature  for  reelection.  He  knew  well  i 
enough  who  his  opponent  would  be.  At  every  turn  there  j 
fell  across  his  path  the  shadow  of  a cool  sinister  figure, 
his  relentless  enemy.  It  was  Lincoln.  On  the  struggle 
with  Lincoln  his  whole  battle  turned. 

Abandoned  by  his  former  allies,  his  one  hope  was  the 
retention  of  his  constituency.  To  discredit  Lincoln,  to  twist 
and  discredit  all  his  arguments,  was  for  Douglas  a matter 
of  life  and  death.  He  struck  frequently  with  great  force,  ! 
but  sometimes  with  more  fury  than  wisdom.  Many  a time 
the  unruffled  coolness  of  Lincoln  brought  to  nothing  what  , 
was  meant  for  a deadly  thrust.  Douglas  took  counsel  of 


THE  LITERARY  STATESMAN 


85 


despair  and  tried  to  show  that  Lincoln  was  preaching  the 
amalgamation  of  the  white  and  black  races.  ‘T  protest,” 
Lincoln  replied,  “against  the  counterfeit  logic  which  says 
that  because  I do  not  want  a black  woman  for  a slave,  I 
must  necessarily  want  her  for  a wife.  I need  not  have  her 
for  either.  I can  just  leave  her  alone.  In  some  respects 
she  certainly  is  not  my  equal;  but  in  her  natural  right  to 
eat  the  bread  she  earns  with  her  own  hands  without  asking 
leave  of  any  one  else,  she  is  my  equal  and  the  equal  of  all 
others.”^  Any  false  move  made  by  Douglas,  any  rash  asser- 
tion, was  sure  to  be  seized  upon  by  that  watchful  enemy  in 
Illinois.  In  attempting  to  defend  himself  on  two  fronts  at 
once,  defying  both  the  Republicans  and  the  Democratic  ma- 
chine, Douglas  made  his  reckless  declaration  that  all  he 
wanted  was  a fair  vote  by  the  people  of  Kansas ; that  for 
himself  he  did  not  care  how  they  settled  the  matter,  whether 
slavery  was  voted  up  or  voted  down.  With  relentless  skill, 
Lincoln  developed  the  implications  of  this  admission,  draw- 
ing forth  from  its  confessed  indifference  to  the  existence  of 
slavery,  a chain  of  conclusions  that  extended  link  by  link 
to  a belief  in  reopening  the  African  slave  trade.  This  was 
done  in  his  speech  accepting  the  Republican  nomination  for 
the  Senate.  In  the  same  speech  he  restated  his  general  posi- 
tion in  half  a dozen  sentences  that  became  at  once  a classic 
statement  for  the  whole  Republican  party : “A  house  divided 
against  itself  can  not  stand.  I believe  this  government  can 
not  endure  permanently  half  slave  and  half  free.  I do  not 
expect  the  Union  to  be  dissolved.  I do  not  expect  the  house 
to  fall,  but  I do  expect  it  will  cease  to  be  divided.  It  will 
become  all  one  thing  or  all  the  other.  Either  the  opponents 
of  slavery  will  arrest  the  further  spread  of  it  and  place  it 
where  the  public  mind  shall  rest  in  the  belief  that  it  is  in 


86 


LINCOLN 


the  course  of  ultimate  extinction ; or  its  advocates  will  push 
it  forward  till  it  shall  become  alike  lawful  in  all  the  States, 
old  as  well  as  new,  North  as  well  as  South.”^ 

The  great  duel  was  rapidly  approaching  its  climax. 
What  was  in  reality  no  more  than  the  last  round  has  appro- 
priated a label  that  ought  to  have  a wider  meaning  and  is 
known  as  the  Lincoln-Douglas  Debates.  The  two  candi- 
dates made  a joint  tour  of  the  State,  debating  their  policies 
in  public  at  various  places  during  the  summer  and  autumn 
of  1858. 

Properly  considered,  these  famous  speeches  closed  Lin- 
coln’s life  as  an  orator.  The  Cooper  Union  speech  was  an 
isolated  aftermath  in  alien  conditions,  a set  performance 
not  quite  in  his  true  vein.  His  brief  addresses  of  the  later 
years  were  incidental ; they  had  no  combative  element. 
Never  again  was  he  to  attempt  to  sway  an  audience  for  an 
immediate  stake  through  the  use  of  the  spoken  word.  ‘‘A 
brief  description  of  Mr.  Lincoln’s  appearance  on  the  stump 
and  of  his  manner  when  speaking,”  as  Herndon  aptly  re- 
marks, ‘‘may  not  be  without  interest.  When  standing  erect, 
he  was  six  feet  four  inches  high.  He  was  lean  in  flesh  and 
ungainly  in  figure.  Aside  from  his  sad,  pained  look,  due  to 
habitual  melancholy,  his  face  had  no  characteristic  or  fixed 
expression.  He  was  thin  through  the  chest  and  hence  slight- 
ly stoop-shouldered.  ...  At  first  he  was  very  awkward 
and  it  seemed  a real  labor  to  adjust  himself  to  his  surround- 
ings. He  struggled  for  a time  under  a feeling  of  apparent 
diffidence  and  sensitiveness,  and  these  only  added  to  his 
awkwardness.  . . . When  he  began  speaking  his  voice 

v/as  shrill,  piping  and  unpleasant.  His  manner,  his  attitude, 
his  dark  yellow  face,  wrinkled  and  dry,  his  oddity  of  pose, 
his  diffident  movements ; everything  seemed  to  be  against  him, 


THE  LITERARY  STATESMAN 


87 


but  only  for  a short  time.  ...  As  he  proceeded,  he 
became  somewhat  more  animated.  . . . He  did  not 

gesticulate  as  much  with  his  hands  as  with  his  head.  He 
used  the  latter  frequently,  throwing  it  with  him,  this  way 
and  that.  . . . He  never  sawed  the  air  nor  rent  space 

into  tatters  and  rags,  as  some  orators  do.  He  never  acted 
for  stage  effect.  He  was  cool,  considerate,  reflective — in 
time,  self-possessed  and  self-reliant.  . . . As  he  moved 

along  in  his  speech  he  became  freer  and  less  uneasy  in  his 
movements;  to  that  extent  he  was  graceful.  He  had  a per- 
fect naturalness,  a strong  individuality,  and  to  that  extent 
he  was  dignified.  . . . He  spoke  with  effectiveness  and 

to  move  the  judgment  as  well  as  the  emotion  of  men.  There 
was  a world  of  meaning  and  emphasis  in  the  long,  bony 
finger  of  the  right  hand  as  he  dotted  the  ideas  on  the  minds 
of  his  hearers.  . . . He  always  stood  squarely  on  his 

feet.  . . . He  neither  touched  nor  leaned  on  anything 

.■^or  support.  He  never  ranted,  never  walked  backward  and 
forward  on  the  platform.  ...  As  he  proceeded  with 
his  speech,  the  exercise  of  his  vocal  organs  altered  some- 
v;hat  the  pitch  of  his  voice.  It  lost  in  a measure  its  former 
acute  and  shrilling  pitch  and  mellowed  into  a more  har- 
monious and  pleasant  sound.  His  form  expanded,  and  not- 
withstanding the  sunken  breast,  he  rose  up  a splendid  and 
imposing  figure.  . . . His  little  gray  eyes  flashed  in  a 

face  aglow  with  the  fire  of  his  profound  thoughts;  and 
his  uneasy  movements  and  diffident  manner  sunk  themselves 
beneath  the  wave  of  righteous  indignation  that  came  sweep- 
ing over  him.’’^ 

A wonderful  dramatic  contrast  were  these  two  men, 
each  in  his  way  so  masterful,  as  they  appeared  in  the  famous 
debates.  By  good  fortune  we  have  a portrait  of  Douglas 


88 


LINCOLN 


the  orator,  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Stowe,  who  had  observed 
him  with  reluctant  admiration  from  the  gallery  of  the 
Senate.  ‘This  Douglas  is  the  very  ideal  of  vitality.  Short, 
broad,  thick-set,  every  inch  of  him  has  its  own  alertness  and 
motion.  He  has  a good  head,  thick  black  hair,  heavy  black 
brows,  and  a keen  face.  His  figure  would  be  an  unfortunate 
one  were  it  not  for  the  animation  that  constantly  pervades 
it.  As  it  is  it  rather  gives  poignancy  to  his  peculiar  appear- 
ance ; he  has  a small  handsome  hand,  moreover,  and  a grace- 
ful as  well  as  forcible  mode  of  using  it.  . . . He  has  two 
requisites  of  a debater,  a melodious  voice  and  clear,  sharply 
defined  enunciation.  His  forte  in  debating  is  his  power  of 
mystifying  the  point.  With  the  most  offhand  assured  airs 
in  the  world,  and  a certain  appearance  of  honest  superiority, 
like  one  who  has  a regard  for  you  and  wishes  to  set  you 
right  on  one  or  two  little  matters,  he  proceeds  to  set  up 
some  point  which  is  not  that  in  question,  but  only  a family 
connection  of  it,  and  this  point  he  attacks  with  the  very 
best  of  logic  and  language;  he  charges  upon  it,  horse  and 
foot,  runs  it  down,  tramples  it  in  the  dust,  and  then  turns 
upon  you  with  ‘See,  there  is  your  argument.  Did  I not 
tell  you  so?  You  see  it  is  all  stuff.’  And  if  you  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  so  dazzled  by  his  quickness  as  to 
forget  that  the  routed  point  is  not,  after  all,  the  one  in 
question,  you  suppose  all  is  over  with  it.  Moreover,  he 
contrives  to  mingle  up  so  many  stinging  allusions,  so  many 
piquant  personalities,  that  by  the  time  he  has  done  his  mysti- 
fication, a dozen  others  are  ready  and  burning  to  spring  on 
their  feet  to  repel  some  direct  or  indirect  attack  all  equally 
wide  of  the  point.” 

The  mode  of  travel  of  the  two  contestants  heightened 
the  contrast.  George  B.  McClellan,  a young  engineer  offi- 


THE  LITERARY  STATESMAN 


89 


cer  who  had  recently  resigned  from  the  army  and  was  now 
general  superintendent  of  the  Illinois  Central  Railroad,  gave 
Douglas  his  private  car  and  a special  train.  Lincoln 
traveled  any  way  he  could — in  ordinary  passenger  trains, 
or  even  in  the  caboose  of  a freight  train.  A curious  sym- 
bolization of  Lincoln’s  belief  that  the  real  conflict  was 
between  the  plain  people  and  organized  money ! 

The  debates  did  not  develop  new  ideas.  It  was  a literary 
duel,  each  leader  aiming  to  restate  himself  in  the  most 
telling,  popular  way.  For  once  that  superficial  definition 
of  art  applied:  ‘‘What  oft  was  thought  but  ne’er  so  well 
expressed.”  Nevertheless  the  debates  contained  an  incident 
that  helped  to  make  history.  Though  Douglas  was  at  war 
with  the  Administration,  it  was  not  certain  that  the  quarrel 
might  not  be  made  up.  There  was  no  other  leader  who 
would  be  so  formidable  at  the  head  of  a reunited  Democratic 
party.  Lincoln  pondered  the  question,  how  could  the  rift 
between  Douglas  and  the  Democratic  machine  be  made 
irrevocable?  And  now  a new  phase  of  Lincoln  appeared. 
It  was  the  political  strategist.  He  saw  that  if  he  would 
disregard  his  own  chance  of  election — as  he  had  done  from 
a simpler  motive  four  years  before — ^he  could  drive  Doug- 
las into  a dilemma  from  which  there  was  no  real  escape.  He 
confided  his  purpose  to  his  friends ; they  urged  him  not  to 
do  it.  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind  as  he  generally  did, 
without  consultation,  in  the  silence  of  his  own  thoughts, 
and  once  having  made  it  up,  he  was  inflexible. 

At  Freeport,  Lincoln  made  the  move  which  probably 
lost  him  the  Senatorship.  He  asked  a question  which  if 
Douglas  answered  it  one  way  would  enable  him  to  recover 
the  favor  of  Illinois  but  would  lose  him  forever  the  favor 
of  the  slave-holders;  but  which,  if  he  answered  it  another 


90 


LINCOLN 


way  might  enable  him  to  make  his  peace  at  Washington 
but  would  certainly  lose  him  Illinois.  The  question  was : 
‘'Can  the  people  of  a LFnited  States  Territory  in  any  lawful 
way,  against  the  wish  of  any  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
exclude  slavery  from  its  limits  prior  to  the  formation  of 
a State  Constitution?”®  In  other  words,  is  the  Dred  Scott 
decision  good  law?  Is  it  true  that  a slave-holder  can  take 
his  slaves  into  Kansas  if  the  people  of  Kansas  want  to 
keep  him  out? 

Douglas  saw  the  trap.  With  his  instantaneous  facility 
he  tried  to  cloud  the  issue  and  extricate  himself  through 
evasion  in  the  very  manner  Mrs.  Stowe  has  described. 
While  dodging  a denial  of  the  court’s  authority,  he  insisted 
that  his  doctrine  of  local  autonomy  was  still  secure  because 
through  police  regulation  the  local  legislature  could  foster 
or  strangle  slavery,  just  as  they  pleased,  no  matter  “what 
way  the  Supreme  Court  may  hereafter  decide  as  to  the 
abstract  question  whether  slavery  may  or  may  not  go  into 
a Territory  under  the  Constitution.” 

As  Lincoln’s  friends  had  foreseen,  this  matchless  per- 
formance of  carrying  water  on  both  shoulders  caught  the 
popular  fancy;  Douglas  was  reelected  to  the  Senate.  As 
Lincoln  had  foreseen,  it  killed  him  as  a Democratic  leader; 
it  prevented  the  reunion  of  the  Democratic  party.  The  re- 
sult appeared  in  i860  when  the  Republicans,  though  still 
a minority  party,  carried  the  day  because  of  the  bitter 
divisions  among  the  Democrats.  That  was  what  Lincoln 
foresaw  when  he  said  to  his  fearful  friends  while  they 
argued  in  vain  to  prevent  his  asking  the  question  at  Free- 
port. “I  am  killing  larger  game;  the  great  battle  of  i860 
is  worth  a thousand  of  this  senatorial  race.”® 


X 


THE  DARK  HORSE 

One  of  the  most  curious  things  in  Lincoln  is  the  way 
his  confidence  in  himself  came  and  went.  He  had  none  of 
Douglas’s  unwavering  self-reliance.  Before  the  end,  to  be 
sure,  he  attained  a type  of  self-reliance,  higher  and  more 
imperturbable.  But  this  was  not  the  fruit  of  a steadfast 
unfolding.  Rather,  he  was  like  a tree  with  its  alternating 
periods  of  growth  and  pause,  now  richly  in  leaf,  now  dor- 
mant. Equally  applicable  is  the  other  familiar  image  of 
the  successive  waves. 

The  clue  seems  to  have  been,  in  part  at  least,  a matter 
of  vitality.  Just  as  Douglas  emanated  vitality — so  much  so 
that  his  aura  filled  the  whole  Senate  chamber  and  forced 
an  unwilling  response  in  the  gifted  but  hostile  woman  who 
watched  him  from  the  gallery — Lincoln,  conversely,  made 
no  such  overpowering  impression.  His  observers,  however 
much  they  have  to  say  about  his  humor,  his  seasons  of 
Shakespearian  mirth,  never  forget  their  impression  that  at 
heart  he  is  sad.  His  fondness  for  poetry  in  the  minor  key 
has  become  a byword,  especially  the  line  *'Oh,  why  should 
the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud.” 

It  is  impossible  to  discover  any  law  governing  the  suc- 
cession of  his  lapses  in  self-reliance.  But  they  may  be 
related  very  plausibly  to  his  sense  of  failure  or  at  least  to 
his  sense  of  futility.  He  was  one  of  those  intensely  sensi- 
tive natures  to  whom  the  futilities  of  this  world  are  its  most 

91 


92 


LINCOLN 


discouraging  feature.  Whenever  such  ideas  were  brought 
home  to  him  his  energy  flagged;  his  vitality,  never  high, 
sank.  He  was  prone  to  turn  away  from  the  outward  life 
to  lose  himself  in  the  inner.  All  this  is  part  of  the  phe- 
nomena which  Herndon  perceived  more  clearly  than  he 
comprehended  it,  which  led  him  to  call  Lincoln  a fatalist. 

A humbler  but  perhaps  more  accurate  explanation  is  the 
reminder  that  he  was  son  to  Thomas  the  unstable.  What 
happened  in  Lincoln’s  mind  when  he  returned  defeated  from 
Washington,  that  ghost-like  rising  of  the  impulses  of  old 
Thomas,  recurred  more  than  once  thereafter.  In  fact  there 
is  a period  well-defined,  a span  of  thirteen  years  terminat- 
ing suddenly  on  a day  in  1862,  during  which  the  ghost  of 
old  Thomas  is  a thing  to  be  reckoned  with  in  his  son’s  life. 
It  came  and  went,  most  of  the  time  fortunately  far  on  the 
horizon.  But  now  and  then  it  drew  near.  Always  it  was 
lurking  somewhere,  waiting  to  seize  upon  him  in  those  mo- 
ments when  his  vitality  sank,  when  his  energies  were  in  the 
ebb,  when  his  thoughts  were  possessed  by  a sense  of  fu- 
tility. 

The  year  1859  was  one  of  his  ebb  tides.  In  the  pre- 
vious year  the  rising  tide,  which  had  mounted  high  during 
his  success  on  the  circuit,  reached  its  crest.  The  memory 
of  his  failure  at  Washington  was  effaced.  At  Freeport  he 
was  a more  powerful  genius,  a more  dominant  personality, 
than  he  had  ever  been.  Gradually,  in  the  months  following, 
the  high  wave  subsided.  During  1859  he  gave  most  of  his 
attention  to  his  practice.  Though  political  speech-making 
continued,  and  though  he  did  not  impair  his  reputation,  he 
did  nothing  of  a remarkable  sort.  The  one  literary  frag- 
ment of  any  value  is  a letter  to  a Boston  committee  that  had 
invited  him  to  attend  a ‘‘festival”  in  Boston  on  Jefferson’s 


THE  DARK  HORSE 


93 


birthday.  He  avowed  himself  a thoroughgoing  disciple  of 
Jefferson  and  pronounced  the  principles  of  Jefferson  “the 
definitions  and  axioms  of  free  society.’’  Without  condi- 
tions he  identified  his  own  cause  with  the  cause  of  Jefferson, 
“the  man  who  in  the  concrete  pressure  of  a struggle  for 
national  independence  by  a single  people,  had  the  coolness, 
forecast  and  capacity  to  introduce  into  a merely  revolution- 
ary document,  an  abstract  truth,  applicable  to  all  men  and 
all  times,  and  so  to  embalm  it  there  that  to-day  and  in  all 
coming  days,  it  shall  be  a rebuke  and  a stumbling-block  to 
the  very  harbingers  of  reappearing  tyranny  and  opprcs- 
sion.”i 

While  the  Boston  committee  were  turning  their  eyes 
toward  this  great  new  phrase-maker  of  the  West,  several 
politicians  in  Illinois  had  formed  a bold  resolve.  They 
would  try  to  make  him  President.  The  movement  had  two 
sources — the  personal  loyalty  of  his  devoted  friends  of  the 
circuit,  the  shrewdness  of  the  political  managers  who 
saw  that  his  duel  with  Douglas  had  made  him  a national 
figure.  As  one  of  them  said  to  him,  “Douglas  being  so 
widely  known,  you  are  getting  a national  reputation  through 
him.”  Lincoln  replied  that  he  did  not  lack  the  ambition 
but  lacked  altogether  the  confidence  in  the  possibility  of 
success.^ 

This  was  his  attitude  during  most  of  1859.  The  glow, 
the  enthusiasm,  of  the  previous  year  was  gone.  “I  must 
in  candor  say  that  I do  not  think  myself  fit  for  the  Presi- 
dency,” he  wrote  to  a newspaper  editor  in  April.  He  used 
the  same  words  to  another  correspondent  in  July.  As  late 
as  November  first,  he  wrote,  “For  my  single  self,  I have 
enlisted  for  the  permanent  success  of  the  Republican  cause, 
and  for  this  object  I shall  labor  faithfully  in  the  ranks, 


94 


LINCOLN 


unless,  as  I think  not  probable,  the  judgment  of  the  party 
shall  assign  me  a different  position.”^ 

Meanwhile,  both  groups  of  supporters  had  labored  un- 
ceasingly, regardless  of  his  approval.  In  his  personal  fol- 
lowing, the  companionableness  of  twenty  years  had  deep- 
ened into  an  almost  romantic  loyalty.  The  leaders  of  this 
enthusiastic  attachment,  most  of  them  lawyers,  had  no 
superiors  for  influence  in  Illinois.  The  man  who  had  such 
a following  was  a power  in  politics  whether  he  would  or 
no.  This  the  mere  politicians  saw.  They  also  saw  that  the 
next  Republican  nomination  would  rest  on  a delicate  calcu- 
lation of  probabilities.  There  were  other  Republicans  more 
conspicuous  than  Lincoln — Seward  in  New  York,  Sumner 
in  Massachusetts,  Chase  in  Ohio — but  all  these  had  invet- 
erate enemies.  Despite  their  importance  would  it  be  safe 
to  nominate  them?  Would  not  the  party  be  compelled 
to  take  some  relatively  minor  figure,  some  essentially  new 
man?  In  a word,  what  we  know  as  a “dark  horse.”  Be- 
lieving that  this  would  happen,  they  built  hopefully  on  their 
faith  in  Lincoln. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  at  last  persuaded  to 
take  his  candidacy  seriously.  The  local  campaign  for  his 
nomination  had  gone  so  far  that  a failure  to  go  further 
would  have  the  look  of  being  discarded  as  the  local  Repub- 
lican leader.  This  argument  decided  him.  Before  the 
year’s  end  he  had  agreed  to  become  a candidate  before  the 
convention.  In  his  own  words,  “I  am  not  in  a position 
where  it  would  hurt  much  for  me  to  not  be  nominated  on 
the  national  ticket ; but  I am  where  it  would  hurt  some  for 
me  to  not  get  the  Illinois  delegates.”^ 

It  was  shortly  after  this  momentous  decision  that  he 
went  to  New  York  by  invitation  and  made  his  most  cele- 


THE  DARK  HORSE 


95 


brated,  though  not  in  any  respect  his  greatest,  oration.^  A 
large  audience  filled  Cooper  Union,  February  27,  i860. 
William  Cullen  Bryant  presided.  David  Dudley  Field 
escorted  Lincoln  to  the  platform.  Horace  Greeley 
was  in  the  audience.  Again,  the  performance  was 
purely  literary.  No  formulation  of  new  policies,  no 
appeal  for  any  new  departure.  It  was  a masterly  re- 
statement of  his  position;  of  the  essence  of  the  debates  with 
Douglas.  It  cleansed  the  Republican  platform  of  all  acci- 
dental accretions,  as  if  a ship’s  hull  were  being  scraped  of 
barnacles  preparatory  to  a voyage;  it  gave  the  underlying 
issues  such  inflexible  definition  that  they  could  not  be 
juggled  with.  Again  he  showed  a power  of  lucid  state- 
ment not  possessed  by  any  of  his  rivals.  An  incident  of 
the  speech  was  his  unsparing  condemnation  of  John  Brown 
whose  raid  and  death  were  on  every  tongue.  ‘‘You  charge 
that  we  stir  up  insurrections  among  your  slaves,”  said  he, 
apostrophizing  the  slave-holders.  “We  deny  it,  and  what 
is  your  proof?  ‘Harper’s  Ferry;  John  Brown!’  John 
Brown  was  no  Republican;  and  you  have  failed  to  impli- 
cate a single  Republican  in  this  Harper’s  Ferry  enter- 
prise.' . . . 

“John  Brown’s  effort  was  peculiar.  It  was  not  a slave 
insurrection.  It  was  an  attempt  by  white  men  to  get  up  a 
revolt  among  slaves,  in  which  the  slaves  refused  to  partici- 
pate. In  fact,  it  was  so  absurd  that  the  slaves  with  all 
their  ignorance  saw  plainly  enough  that  it  could  not  suc- 
ceed. That  affair  in  its  philosophy  corresponds  with  the 
many  attempts  related  in  history  at  the  assassination  of 
kings  and  emperors.  An  enthusiast  broods  over  the  oppres- 
sion of  the  people  until  he  fancies  himself  commissioned 
by  heaven  to  liberate  them.  He  ventures  the  attempt  which 


96 


LINCOLN 


ends  in  little  else  than  his  own  execution.  Orsini’s  attempt 
on  Louis  Napoleon,  and  John  Brown’s  attempt  at  Harper’s 
Ferry  were,  in  their  philosophy,  precisely  the  same.  The 
eagerness  to  cast  blame  on  old  England  in  the  one  case  and 
on  New  England  in  the  other,  does  not  disprove  the  same- 
ness of  the  two  things.” 

The  Cooper  Union  speech  received  extravagant  praise 
from  all  the  Republican  newspapers.  Lincoln’s  ardent  par- 
tisans assert  that  it  took  New  York  “by  storm.”  Rather 
too  violent  a way  of  putting  it!  But  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  speech  made  a deep  impression.  Thereafter,  many 
of  the  Eastern  managers  were  willing  to  consider  Lincoln 
as  a candidate,  should  factional  jealousies  prove  uncompro- 
mising. Any  port  in  a storm,  you  know.  Obviously,  there 
could  be  ports  far  more  dangerous  than  this  “favorite  son” 
of  Illinois. 

Many  national  conventions  in  the  United  States  have 
decided  upon  a compromise  candidate,  “a  dark  horse,” 
through  just  such  reasoning.  The  most  noted  instance  is 
the  Republican  Convention  of  i860.  When  it  assembled  at 
Chicago  in^June,  the  most  imposing  candidate  was  the  bril- 
liant leader  of  the  New  York  Republicans,  Seward.  But  no 
man  in  the  country  had  more  bitter  enemies.  Horace 
Greeley  whose  paper  The  Tribune  was  by  far  the  most  in- 
fluential Republican  organ,  went  to  Chicago  obsessed  by  one 
purpose : because  of  irreconcilable  personal  quarrels  he  would 
have  revenge  upon  Seward.  Others  who  did  not  hate 
Seward  were  afraid  of  what  Greeley  symbolized.  And  all 
of  them  knew  that  whatever  else  happened,  the  West  must 
be  secured. 

The  Lincoln  managers  played  upon  the  Eastern  jeal- 
ousies and  the  Eastern  fears  with  great  skill.  There  was 


THE  DARK  HORSE 


97 


little  sleep  among  the  delegates  the  night  previous  to  the 
balloting.  At  just  the  right  moment,  the  Lincoln  managers, 
though  their  chief  had  forbidden  them  to  do  so,  offered 
promises  with  regard  to  Cabinet  appointments.®  And  they 
succeeded  in  packing  the  galleries  of  the  Convention  Hall 
with  a perfectly  organized  claque — ^‘rooters,”  the  modern 
American  would  say. 

The  result  on  the  third  ballot  was  a rush  to  Lincoln  of 
all  the  enemies  of  Seward,  and  Lincoln's  nomination  amid 
a roaring  frenzy  of  applause. 


XI 


SECESSION 

After  twenty-three  years  of  successive  defeats,  Lincoln, 
almost  fortuitously,  was  at  the  center  of  the  political  mael- 
strom. The  clue  to  what  follows  is  in  the  way  he  had 
developed  during  that  long  discouraging  apprenticeship  to 
greatness.  Mentally,  he  had  always  been  in  isolation. 
Socially,  he  had  lived  in  a near  horizon.  The  real  tragedy 
of  his  failure  at  Washington  was  in  the  closing  against 
him  of  the  opportunity  to  know  his  country  as  a whole. 
Had  it  been  Lincoln  instead  of  Douglas  to  whom  destiny 
had  given  a residence  at  Washington  during  the  ’fifties,  it 
is  conceivable  that  things  might  have  been  different  in  the 
’sixties.  On  the  other  hand,  America  would  have  lost  its 
greatest  example  of  the  artist  in  politics. 

And  without  that  artist,  without  his  extraordinary 
literary  gift,  his  party  might  not  have  consolidated  in  i860. 
A very  curious  party  it  was.  It  had  sprung  to  life  as  a 
denial,  as  a device  for  halting  Douglas.  Lincoln’s  doc- 
trine of  the  golden  mean  became  for  once  a political  power. 
Men  of  the  most  diverse  views  on  other  issues  accepted  in 
their  need  the  axiom:  ‘‘Stand  with  anybody  so  long  as  he 
stands  right.”  And  standing  right,  for  that  moment  in 
the  minds  of  them  all,  meant  keeping  slavery  and  the 
money  power  from  devouring  the  territories. 

The  artist  of  the  movement  expressed  them  all  in  his 
declaration  that  the  nation  needed  the  Territories  to  give 

98 


SECESSION 


99 


home  and  opportunity  to  free  white  people.  Even  the 
Abolitionists,  who  hitherto  had  refused  to  make  common 
cause  with  any  other  faction,  entered  the  negative  coalition 
of  the  new  party.  So  did  Whigs,  and  anti-slavery  Demo- 
crats, as  well  as  other  factions  then  obscure  which  we 
should  now  label  Socialists  and  Labormen. 

However,  this  coalition,  which  in  origin  was  purely 
negative,  revealed,  the  moment  it  coalesced,  two  positive 
features.  To  the  man  of  the  near  horizon  in  i860  neither 
of  these  features  seemed  of  first  importance.  To  the  man 
outside  that  horizon,  seeing  them  in  perspective  as  related 
to  the  sum  total  of  American  life,  they  had  a significance 
he  did  not  entirely  appreciate. 

The  first  of  these  was  the  temper  of  the  Abolitionists. 
Lincoln  ignored  it.  He  was  content  with  his  ringing  as- 
sertion of  the  golden  mean.  But  there  spoke  the  man  of 
letters  rather  than  the  statesman.  Of  temper  in  politics 
as  an  abstract  idea,  he  had  been  keenly  conscious  from  the 
•first;  but  his  lack  of  familiarity  with  political  organizations 
kept  him  from  assigning  full  value  to  the  temper  of  any 
one  factor  as  affecting  the  joint  temper  of  the  whole  group. 
It  was  appointed  for  him  to  learn  this  in  a supremely  hard 
way  and  to  apply  the  lesson  with  wonderful  audacity.  But 
in  i860  that  stern  experience  still  slept  in  the  future.  He 
had  no  suspicion  as  yet  that  he  might  find  it  difficult  to 
carry  out  his  own  promise  to  stand  with  the  Abolitionists 
in  excluding  slavery  from  the  Territories,  and  to  stand 
against  them  in  enforcing  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.  He  did 
not  yet  see  why  any  one  should  doubt  the  validity  of  this 
promise;  why  any  one  should  be  afraid  to  go  along  with 
him,  afraid  that  the  temper  of  one  element  would  infect 
the  whole  coalition. 


lOO 


LINCOLN 


But  this  fear  that  Lincoln  did  not  allow  for,  possessed 
already  a great  many  minds.  Thousands  of  Southerners, 
of  the  sort  whom  Lincoln  credited  with  good  intentions 
about  slavery,  feared  the  Abolitionists.  Not  because  the 
Abolitionists  wanted  to  destroy  slavery,  but  because  they 
wanted  to  do  so  fiercely,  cruelly.  Like  Lincoln,  these  South- 
erners who  were  liberals  in  thought  and  moderates  in  action, 
did  not  know  what  to  do  about  slavery.  Like  Lincoln,  they 
had  but  one  fixed  idea  with  regard  to  it, — slavery  must 
not  be  terminated  violently.  Lincoln,  despite  his  near 
horizon,  sensed  them  correctly  as  not  being  at  one  with 
the  great  plutocrats  who  wished  to  exploit  slavery.  But 
when  the  Abolitionist  poured  out  the  same  fury  of  vitupera- 
tion on  every  sort  of  slave-holder;  when  he  promised  his 
soul  that  it  should  yet  have  the  joy  of  exulting  in  the  ruin 
of  all  such,  the  moderate  Southerners  became  as  flint. 
When  the  Abolitionists  proclaimed  their  affiliation  with 
the  new  party,  the  first  step  was  taken  toward  a general 
Southern  coalition  to  stop  the  Republican  advance. 

There  was  another  positive  element  blended  into  the 
negative  coalition.  In  1857,  the  Republicans  overruling 
the  traditions  of  those  members  who  had  once  been  Demo- 
crats, set  their  faces  toward  protection.  To  most  of  the 
Northerners  the  fatefulness  of  the  step  was  not  obvious. 
Twenty  years  had  passed  since  a serious  tariff  controversy 
had  shaken  the  North.  Financial  difficulties  in  the  ’fifties 
were  more  prevalent  in  the  North  than  in  the  South.  Busi- 
ness was  in  a quandary.  Labor  was  demanding  bettef 
opportunities.  Protection  as  a solution,  or  at  least  as  a 
palliative,  seemed  to  the  mass  of  the  Republican  coalition, 
even  to  the  former  Democrats  for  all  their  free  trade 
traditions,  not  outrageous.  To  the  Southerners  it  was  an 
alarm  bell.  The  Southern  world  was  agricultural ; its 


SECESSION 


lOI 


staple  was  cotton;  the  bulk  of  its  market  was  in  England. 
Ever  since  1828,  the  Southern  mind  had  been  constantly 
on  guard  with  regard  to  tariff,  unceasingly  fearful  that 
protection  would  be  imposed  on  it  by  Northern  and  West- 
ern votes.  To  have  to  sell  its  cotton  in  England  at  free 
trade  values,  but  at  the  same  time  to  have  to  buy  its  com- 
modities at  protected  values  fixed  by  Northern  manufac- 
turers— what  did  that  mean  but  the  despotism  of  one 
section  over  another?  When  the  Republicans  took  up  pro- 
tection as  part  of  their  creed,  a general  Southern  coalition 
was  rendered  almost  inevitable. 

This,  Lincoln  did  not  see.  Again  it  is  to  be  accounted 
for  in  part  by  his  near  horizon.  Had  he  lived  at  Wash- 
ington, had  he  met,  frequently.  Southern  men;  had  he 
passed  those  crucial  years  of  the  ’fifties  in  debates  with 
political  leaders  rather  than  in  story-telling  tournaments  on 
the  circuit;  perhaps  all  this  would  have  been  otherwise. 
But  one  can  not  be  quite  sure.  Finance  never  appealed  to 
him.  A wide  application  may  be  given  to  Herndon’s  re- 
mark that  “he  had  no  money  sense.”  All  the  rest  of  the 
Republican  doctrine  finds  its  best  statement  in  Lincoln. 
On  the  one  subject  of  its  economic  policy  he  is  silent.  Ap- 
parently it  is  to  be  classified  with  the  routine  side  of  the 
law.  To  neither  was  he  ever  able  to  give  more  than  a 
perfunctory  attention.  As  an  artist  in  politics  he  had  the 
defect  of  his  qualities. 

What  his  qualities  showed  him  were  two  things:  the 
alliance  of  the  plutocratic  slave  power  with  the  plutocratic 
money  power,  and  the  essential  rightness  in  impulse  of 
the  bulk  of  the  Southern  people.  Hence  his  conclusion 
which  became  his  party’s  conclusion:  that,  in  the  South, 
a political-financial  ring  was  dominating  a leaderless 
people. 


102 


LINCOLN 


This  was  not  the  truth.  Lincoln’s  defects  in  i860 
limited  his  vision.  Nevertheless,  to  the  solitary  distant 
thinker,  shut  in  by  the  near  horizon  of  political  Springfield, 
there  was  every  excuse  for  the  error.  The  palpable  evi- 
dence all  confirmed  it.  What  might  have  contradicted  it 
was  a cloud  of  witnesses,  floating,  incidental,  casual,  tacit. 
Just  what  a nature  like  Lincoln’s,  if  only  he  could  have 
met  them,  would  have  perceived  and  comprehended;  what 
a nature  like  Douglas’s,  no  matter  how  plainly  they  were 
presented  to  him,  could  neither  perceive  nor  comprehend. 
It  was  the  irony  of  fate  that  an  opportunity  to  fathom  his 
time  was  squandered  upon  the  unseeing  Douglas,  while  to 
the  seeing  Lincoln  it  was  denied.  In  a word,  the  Southern 
reaction  against  the  Republicans,  like  the  Republican  move- 
ment itself,  had  both  a positive  and  a negative  side.  It 
was  the  positive  side  that  could  be  seen  and  judged  at  long 
range.  And  this  was  what  Lincoln  saw,  which  appeared 
to  him  to  have  created  the  dominant  issue  in  i860. 

The  negative  side  of  the  Southern  movement  he  did  not 
see.  He  was  too  far  away  to  make  out  the  details  of  the 
picture.  Though  he  may  have  known  from  the  census  of 
1850  that  only  one-third  of  the  Southern  whites  were  mem- 
bers of  slave-holding  families,  he  could  scarcely  have  known 
that  only  a small  minority  of  the  Southern  families  owned 
as  many  as  five  slaves;  that  those  who  had  fortunes  in 
slaves  were  a mere  handful — just  as  to-day  those  who  have 
fortunes  in  steel  or  beef  are  mere  handfuls.  But  still  less 
did  he  know  how  entirely  this  vast  majority  which  had  so 
little,  if  any,  interest  in  slavery,  had  grown  to  fear  and 
distrust  the  North.  They,  like  him,  were  suffering  from 
a near  horizon.  They,  too,  were  applying  the  principle 
‘^Stand  with  anybody  so  long  as  he  stands  right.”  But 


SECESSION 


103 


for  them,  standing  right  meant  preventing  a violent  revolu- 
tion in  Southern  life.  Indifferent  as  they  were  to  slavery, 
they  were  willing  to  go  along  with  the  ‘"slave-barons’"  in 
the  attempt  to  consolidate  the  South  in  a movement  of 
denial — a denial  of  the  right  of  the  North,  either  through 
Abolitionism  or  through  tariff,  to  dominate  the  South. 

If  only  Lincoln  with  his  subtle  mind  could  have  come 
into  touch  wkh  the  negative  side  of  the  Southern  agi- 
tation! It  was  the  other  side,  the  positive  side,  that  was 
vocal.  With  immense  shrewdness  the  profiteers  of  slavery 
saw  and  developed  their  opportunity.  They  organized  the 
South.  They  preached  on  all  occasions,  in  all  connections, 
the  need  of  all  Southerners  to  stand  together,  no  matter 
how  great  their  disagreements,  in  order  to  prevent  the  im- 
poverishment of  the  South  by  hostile  economic  legislation. 
During  the  late  ’fifties  their  propaganda  for  an  all-Southern 
policy,  made  slow  but  constant  headway.  But  even  in 
1859  these  ideas  were  still  far  from  controlling  the 
South. 

And  then  came  John  Brown.  The  dread  of  slave  in- 
surrection was  laid  deep  in  Southern  recollection.  Thirty 
years  before,  the  Nat  Turner  Rebellion  had  filled  a portion 
of  Virginia  with  burned  plantation  houses  amid  whose 
ruins  lay  the  dead  bodies  of  white  women.  A little  earlier, 
a negro  conspiracy  at  Charleston  planned  the  murder  of 
white  men  and  the  parceling  out  of  white  women  among 
the  conspirators.  And  John  Brown  had  come  into  Vir- 
ginia at  the  head  of  a band  of  strangers  calling  upon  the 
slaves  to  rise  and  arm. 

Here  was  a supreme  opportunity.  The  positive  South- 
ern force,  the  slave  profiteers,  seized  at  once  the  attitude 
of  champions  of  the  South.  It  was  easy  enough  to  enlist 


104 


LINCOLN 


the  negative  force  in  a shocked  and  outraged  denunciation 
of  everything  Northern.  And  the  Northern  extremists  did 
all  that  was  in  their  power  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame.  Emer- 
son called  Brown  “this  new  saint  who  had  made  the  gal- 
lows glorious  as  the  cross.”  The  Southerners,  hearing 
that,  thought  of  the  conspiracy  to  parcel  out  the  white 
women  of  Charleston.  Early  in  i860  it  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  South  had  but  one  idea — to  part  company  with  the 
North. 

No  wonder  Lincoln  threw  all  his  influence  into  the 
scale  to  discredit  the  memory  of  Brown.  No  wonder  the 
Republicans  in  their  platform  carefully  repudiated  him. 
They  could  not  undo  the  impression  made  on  the  Southern 
mind  by  two  facts : the  men  who  lauded  Brown  as  a new 
saint  were  voting  the  Republican  ticket;  the  Republicans 
had  committed  themselves  to  the  anti-Southern  policy  of 
protection. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  the  labors  of  pro-slavery  ex- 
tremists, the  movement  for  a breach  with  the  North  lost 
ground  during  i860.  When  the  election  came,  the  vote 
for  President  revealed  a singular  and  unforeseen  situation. 
Four  candidates  were  in  the  field.  The  Democrats,  split 
into  two  by  the  issue  of  slavery  expansion,  formed  two 
parties.  The  slave  profiteers  secured  the  nomination  by 
one  faction  of  John  C.  Breckinridge.  The  moderate 
Democrats  who  would  neither  fight  nor  favor  slaver}^ 
nominated  Douglas.  The  most  peculiar  group  was  the 
fourth.  They  included  all  those  who  would  not  join  the 
Republicans  for  fear  of  the  temper  of  the  Abolition  mem- 
bers, but  who  were  not  promoters  of  slavery,  and  who  dis- 
trusted Douglas.  They  had  no  program  but  to  restore  the 
condition  of  things  that  existed  before  the  Nebraska  Bill. 


SECESSION 


105 


About  four  million  five  hundred  thousand  votes  were 
cast.  Lincoln  had  less  than  two  million,  and  all  but  about 
twenty-four  thousand  of  these  were  in  the  Free  States. 
However,  the  disposition  of  Lincoln’s  vote  gave  him  the 
electoral  college.  He  was  chosen  President  by  the  votes  of 
a minority  of  the  nation.  But  there  was  another  minority 
vote  which  as  events  turned  out,  proved  equally  significant. 
Breckinridge,  the  symbol  of  the  slave  profiteers,  and  of  all 
those  whom  they  had  persuaded  to  follow  them,  had  not 
been  able  to  carry  the  popular  vote  of  the  South.  They 
were  definitely  in  the  minority  in  their  own  section.  The 
majority  of  the  Southerners  had  so  far  reacted  from  the 
wild  alarms  of  the  beginning  of  the  year  that  they  refused 
to  go  along  with  the  candidates  of  the  extremists.  They 
were  for  giving  the  Union  another  trial.  The  South  itself 
had  repudiated  the  slave  profiteers. 

This  was  the  immensely  significant  fact  of  November, 
i860.  It  made  a great  impression  on  the  whole  country. 
For  the  moment  it  made  the  fierce  talk  of  the  Southern 
extremists  inconsequential.  Buoyant  Northerners,  such  as 
Seward,  felt  that  the  crisis  was  over;  that  the  South  had 
voted  for  a reconciliation;  that  only  tact  was  needed  to 
make  everybody  happy.  When,  a few  weeks  after  the 
election,  Seward  said  that  all  would  be  merry  again  inside 
of  ninety  days,  his  illusion  had  for  its  foundation  the 
Southern  rejection  of  the  slave  profiteers. 

Unfortunately,  Seward  did  not  understand  the  precise 
significance  of  the  thought  of  the  moderate  South.  He  did 
not  understand  that  while  the  South  had  voted  to  send 
Breckinridge  and  his  sort  about  their  business,  it  was  still 
deeply  alarmed,  deeply  fearful  that  after  all  it  might  at  any 
minute  be  forced  to  call  them  back,  to  make  common  cause 


io6 


LINCOLN 


with  them  against  what  it  regarded  as  an  alien  and  de- 
structive political  power,  the  Republicans.  This  was  the 
Southern  reservation,  the  unspoken  condition  of  the  vote 
which  Seward — and  for  that  matter,  Lincoln,  also, — failed 
to  comprehend.  Because  of  these  cross-purposes,  because 
the  Southern  alarm  was  based  on  another  thing  than  the 
standing  or  falling  of  slavery,  the  situation  called  for  much 
more  than  tact,  for  profound  psychological  statesmanship. 

And  now  emerges  out  of  the  complexities  of  the  South- 
ern situation  a powerful  personality  whose  ideas  and  point 
of  view  Lincoln  did  not  understand.  Robert  Barnwell 
Rhett  had  once  been  a man  of  might  in  politics.  Twice  he 
had  very  nearly  rent  the  Union  asunder.  In  1844,  again 
in  1851,  he  had  come  to  the  very  edge  of  persuading  South 
Carolina  to  secede.  In  each  case  he  sought  to  organize  the 
general  discontent  of  the  South, — its  dread  of  a tariff,  and 
of  Northern  domination.  After  his  second  failure,  his 
haughty  nature  took  offense  at  fortune.  He  resigned  his 
seat  in  the  Senate  and  withdrew  to  private  life.  But  he 
was  too  large  and  too  bold  a character  to  attain  obscurity. 
Nor  would  his  restless  genius  permit  him  to  rust  in  ease. 
During  the  troubled  ’fifties,  he  watched  from  a distance, 
but  with  ever  increasing  interest,  that  negative  Southern 
force  which  he,  in  the  midst  of  it,  comprehended,  while  it 
drifted  under  the  wing  of  the  extremists.  As  he  did  so, 
the  old  arguments,  the  old  ambitions,  the  old  hopes  re- 
vived. In  1851  his  cry  to  the  South  was  to  assert  itself 
as  a separate  nation — not  for  any  one  reason,  but  for  many 
reasons — 'and  to  lead  its  own  life  apart  from  the  North. 
It  was  an  age  of  brilliant  though  ill-fated  revolutionary 
movements  in  Europe.  Kossuth  and  the  gallant  Hun- 
garian attempt  at  independence  had  captivated  the  Amer- 


SECESSION 


107 


ican  imagination.  Rliett  dreamed  of  seeing  the  South  do 
what  Hungary  had  failed  to  do.  He  thought  of  the  prob- 
lem as  a medieval  knight  would  have  thought,  in  terms  of 
individual  prowess,  with  the  modern  factors,  economics 
and  all  their  sort,  left  on  one  side.  “Smaller  nations  [than 
South  Carolina],”  he  said  in  1851,  “have  striven  for  free- 
dom against  greater  odds.” 

In  i860  he  had  concluded  that  his  third  chance  had 
come.  He  would  try  once  more  to  bring  about  secession. 
To  split  the  Union,  he  would  play  into  the  hands  of  the 
slave-barons.  He  would  aim  to  combine  with  their  move- 
ment the  negative  Southern  movement  and  use  the  result- 
ing coalition  to  crown  with  success  his  third  attempt. 
Issuing  from  his  seclusion,  he  became  at  once  the  over- 
shadowing figure  in  South  Carolina.  Around  him  all  the 
elements  of  revolution  crystallized.  He  was  sixty  years 
old;  seasoned  and  uncompromising  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
one  ideal,  the  independence  of  the  South.  His  arguments 
were  the  same  which  he  had  used  in  1844,  in  1851:  the 
North  would  impoverish  the  South;  it  threatens  to  impose 
a crushing  tribute  in  the  shape  of  protection;  it  seeks  to 
destroy  slavery;  it  aims  to  bring  about  economic  collapse; 
in  the  wreck  thus  produced,  everything  that  is  beautiful, 
charming,  distinctive  in  Southern  life  will  be  lost;  let  us 
fight!  With  such  a leader,  the  forces  of  discontent  were 
quickly,  effectively,  organized.  Even  before  the  election 
of  Lincoln,  the  revolutionary  leaders  in  South  Carolina 
were  corresponding  with  men  of  like  mind  in  other  South- 
ern States,  especially  Alabama,  where  was  another  leader, 
Yancey,  only  second  in  intensity  to  Rhett. 

The  word  from  these  Alabama  revolutionists  to  South 
Carolina  was  to  dare  all,  to  risk  seceding  alone,  confident 


io8 


LINCOLN 


that  the  other  States  of  the  South  would  follow.  Rhett 
and  his  new  associates  took  this  perilous  advice.  The  elec- 
tion was  followed  by  the  call  of  a convention  of  delegates 
of  the  people  of  South  Carolina.  This  convention,  on  the 
twentieth  of  December,  i860,  repealed  the  laws  which 
united  South  Carolina  with  the  other  States  and  proclaimed 
their  own  independent. 


XII 

THE  CRISIS 

Though  Seward  and  other  buoyant  natures  felt  that 
the  crisis  had  passed  with  the  election,  less  volatile  people 
held  the  opposite  view.  Men  who  had  never  before  taken 
seriously  the  Southern  threats  of  disunion  had  waked  sud- 
denly to  a terrified  consciousness  that  they  were  in  for  it. 
In  their  blindness  to  realities  earlier  in  the  year,  they  were 
like  that  brilliant  host  of  camp  followers  which,  as  Thack- 
eray puts  it,  led  the  army  of  Wellington  dancing  and  feast- 
ing to  the  very  brink  of  Waterloo.  And  now  the  day  of 
reckoning  had  come.  An  emotional  reaction  carried  them 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other;  from  self-sufficient  disre- 
gard of  their  adversaries  to  an  almost  self-abasing  regard. 

The  very  type  of  these  people  and  of  their  reaction 
was  Horace  Greeley.  He  was  destined  many  times  to  make 
plain  that  he  lived  mainly  in  his  sensibilities;  that,  in  his 
kaleidoscopic  vision,  the  pattern  of  the  world  could  be  red 
and  yellow  and  green  to-day,  and  orange  and  purple  and 
blue  to-morrow.  To  descend  from  a pinnacle  of  self- 
complacency  into  a desolating  abyss  of  panic,  was  as  easy 
for  Greeley  as  it  is — in  the  vulgar  but  pointed  American 
phrase — to  roll  off  a log.  A few  days  after  the  election, 
Greeley  had  rolled  off  his  log.  He  was  wallowing  in  panic. 
He  began  to  scream  editorially.  The  Southern  extremists 
were  terribly  in  earnest;  if  they  wanted  to  go,  go  they 
would,  and  go  they  should.  But  foolish  Northerners  would 

109 


no 


LINCOLN 


be  sure  to  talk  war  and  the  retaining  of  the  South  in  the 
Union  by  force : it  must  not  be ; what  was  the  Union  com- 
pared with  bloodshed?  There  must  be  no  war — no  war. 
Such  was  Greeley’s  terrified  appeal  to  the  North.  A few 
weeks  after  the  election  he  printed  his  famous  editorial  de- 
nouncing the  idea  of  a Union  pinned  together  by  bayonets. 
He  followed  up  with  another  startling  concession  to  his 
fears : the  South  had  as  good  cause  for  leaving  the  Union 
as  the  colonies  had  for  leaving  the  British  Empire.  A little 
later,  he  formulated  his  ultimate  conclusion, — which  like 
many  of  his  ultimates  proved  to  be  transitory, — ^and  de- 
clared that  if  any  group  of  Southern  States  ‘‘choose  to 
form  an  independent  nation,  they  have  a clear  moral  right 
to  do  so,”  and  pledging  himself  and  his  followers  to  do 
“our  best  to  forward  their  views.” 

Greeley  wielded  through  The  Tribune  more  influence, 
perhaps,  than  was  possessed  by  any  other  Republican  with 
the  single  exception  of  Lincoln.  His  newspaper  constitu- 
ency was  enormous,  and  the  relation  between  the  leader 
and  the  led  was  unusually  close.  He  was  both  oracle  and 
barometer.  As  a symptom  of  the  Republican  panic,  as  a 
cause  increasing  that  panic,  he  was  of  first  importance. 

Meanwhile  Congress  had  met.  And  at  once,  the  most 
characteristic  peculiarity  of  the  moment  was  again  made 
emphatic.  The  popular  majorities  and  the  political  ma- 
chines did  not  coincide.  Both  in  the  North  and  in  the 
South  a minority  held  the  situation  in  the  hollow  of  its 
hand.  The  Breckinridge  Democrats,  despite  their  repudia- 
tion in  the  presidential  vote,  included  so  many  of  the  South- 
ern politicians,  they  were  so  well  organized,  they  had 
scored  such  a menacing  victory  with  the  aid  of  Rhett  in 
South  Carolina,  they  had  played  so  skilfully  on  the  fears 


THE  CRISIS 


III 


of  the  South  at  large,  their  leaders  were  such  skilled  man- 
agers, that  they  were  able  to  continue  for  the  moment  the 
recognized  spokesmen  of  the  South  at  Washington.  They 
lost  no  time  defining  their  position.  If  the  Union  were  not 
to  be  sundered,  the  Republicans  must  pledge  themselves  to 
a new  and  extensive  compromise;  it  must  be  far  different 
from  those  historic  compromises  that  had  preceded  it. 
Three  features  must  characterize  any  new  agreement : The 
South  must  be  dealt  with  as  a unit;  it  must  be  given  a 
‘^sphere  of  influence’' — to  use  our  modern  term — which 
would  fully  satisfy  all  its  impulses  of  expansion;  and  in 
that  sphere,  every  question  of  slavery  must  be  left  entirely,, 
forever,  to  local  action.  In  a word,  they  demanded  for 
the  South  what  to-day  would  be  described  as  a ‘^dominion” 
status.  Therefore,  they  insisted  that  the  party  which  had 
captured  the  Northern  political  machine  should  formulate 
its  reply  to  these  demands.  They  gave  notice  that  they 
would  not  discuss  individual  schemes,  but  only  such  as  the 
victorious  Republicans  might  officially  present.  Thus  the 
national  crisis  became  a party  crisis.  What  could  the  Re- 
publicans arnongThemsUves  agree  to  propose? 

The  central  figure  of  the  crisis  seemed  at  first  to  be  the 
brilliant  Republican  Senator  from  New  York.  Seward 
thought  he  understood  the  South,  and  what  was  still  more 
important,  human  nature.  Though  he  echoed  Greeley’s 
cry  for  peace^ — translating  his  passionate  hysteria  into  the 
polished  cynicism  of  a diplomat  who  had  been  known  to 
deny  that  he  was  ever  entirely  serious — he  scoffed  at  Gree- 
ley’s fears.  If  the  South  had  not  voted  lack  of  confidence 
in  the  Breckinridge  crowd,  what  had  it  voted?  If  the 
Breckinridge  leaders  weren’t  maneuvering  to  save  their 
faces,  what  could  they  be  accused  of  doing?  If  Seward, 


II2 


LINCOLN 


the  Republican  man  of  genius,  couldn’t  see  through  all  that, 
couldn’t  devise  a way  to  help  them  save  their  faces,  what 
was  the  use  in  being  a brilliant  politician? 

Jauntily  self-complacent,  as  confident  of  himself  as  if 
Rome  were  burning  and  he  the  garlanded  fiddler,  Seward 
braced  himself  for  the  task  of  recreating  the  Union. 

But  there  was  an  obstacle  in  his  path.  It  was  Lincoln. 
Of  course,  it  was  folly  to  propose  a scheme  which  the  in- 
coming President  would  not  sustain.  Lincoln  and  Seward 
must  come  to  an  understanding.  To  bring  that  about 
Seward  despatched  a personal  legate  to  Springfield.  Thur- 
low  Weed,  editor,  man  of  the  world,  political  wire-puller 
beyond  compare,  Seward’s  devoted  henchman,  was  the 
legate.  One  of  the  great  events  of  American  history  was 
the  conversation  between  Weed  and  Lincoln  in  December, 
i860.  By  a rare  propriety  of  dramatic  effect,  it  occurred 
• probably,  on  the  very  day  South  Carolina  brought  to  an 
end  its  campaign  of  menace  and  adopted  its  Ordinance 
of  Secession,  December  twentieth.^ 

/ xi  Weed  had  brought  to  Springfield  a definite  proposal. 

^ The  Crittenden  Compromise  was  being  hotly  discussed  in 
Congress  and  throughout  the  country.  All  the  Northern 
advocates  of  conciliation  were  eager  to  put  it  through. 
There  was  some  ground  to  believe  that  the  Southern  ma- 
chine at  Washington  would  accept  it.  If  Lincoln  would 
agree,  Seward  would  make  it  the  basis  of  his  policy. 

This  Compromise  would  have  restored  the  old  line  of 
the  Missouri  Compromise  and  would  have  placed  it  under 
the  protection  of  a constitutional  amendment.  This,  to- 
gether with  a guarantee  against  congressional  interference 
with  slavery  in  the  States  where  it  existed,  a guarantee  the 
Republicans  had  already  offered,  seemed  to  Seward,  to 


THE  CRISIS 


1 13 

Weed,  to  Greeley,  to  the  bulk  of  the  party,  a satisfactory 
means  of  preserving  the  Union.  What  was  it  but  a fall- 
ing back  on  the  original  policy  of  the  party,  the  undoing 
of  those  measures  of  1854  which  had  called  the  party  into 
being?  Was  it  conceivable  that  Lincoln  would  balk  the 
wishes  of  the  party  by  obstructing  such  a natural  mode  of 
extrication?  But  that  was  what  Lincoln  did.  I^His  views 
had  advanced  since  1854.  Then,  he  was  merely  for  restor- 
ing the  old  duality  of  the  country,  the  two  “dominions,” 
Northern  and  Southern,  each  with  its  own  social  order. 
He  had  advanced  to  the  belief  that  this  duality  could  not 
permanently  continue.  Just  how  far  Lincoln  realized  what 
he  was  doing  in  refusing  to  compromise  will  never  be 
known.  Three  months  afterward,  he  took  a course  which 
seems  to  imply  that  his  vision  during  the  interim  had  ex- 
panded, had  opened  before  him  a new  revelation  of  the  na- 
ture of  his  problem.  At  the  earlier  date  Lincoln  and  the 
Southern  people — not  the  Southern  machine — were  looking 
at  the  one  problem  from  opposite  points  of  view,  and  were 
locating  the  significance  of  the  problem  in  different  features. 
To  Lincoln,  the  heart  of  the  matter  was  slavery.  To  the 
Southerners,  including  the  men  who  had  voted  lack  of  confi- 
dence in  Breckinridge,  the  heart  of  the  matter  was  the 
sphere  of  influence.  What  the  Southern  majority  wanted 
was  not  the  policy  of  the  slave  profiteers  but  a secure  future 
for  expansion,  a guarantee  that  Southern  life,  social, 
economic,  cultural,  would  not  be  merged  with  the  life  of 
the  opposite  section : in  a word,  preservation  of  “dominion” 
status.  In  Lincoln’s  mind,  slavery  being  the  main  issue, 
this  “dominion”  issue  was  incidental,  a mere  outgrowth  of 
slavery  that  should  begin  to  pass  away  with  slavery’s  re- 
striction. In  the  Southern  mind,  a community  conscious- 


LINCOLN 


114 

ness,  the  determination  to  be  a people  by  themselves,  a 
nation  within  the  nation,  was  the  issue,  and  slavery  was 
the  incident.  To  repeat,  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  Lin- 
coln would  have  done  had  he  comprehended  the  Southern 
attitude.  His  near  horizon  which  had  kept  him  all  along 
from  grasping  the  negative  side  of  the  Southern  move- 
ment prevented  his  perception  of  this  tragic  instance  of 
cross-purposes. 

Lacking  this  perception,  his  thoughts  had  centered 
themselves  on  a recent  activity  of  the  slave  profiteers.  They 
had  clamored  for  the  annexation  of  new  territory  to  the 
south  of  us.  Various  attempts  had  been  made  to  create 
an  international  crisis  looking  toward  the  seizure  of  Cuba. 
Then,  too,  bold  adventurers  had  staked  their  heads,  seek- 
ing to  found  slave-holding  communities  in  Central  America. 
Why  might  not  such  attempts  succeed?  Why  might  not 
new  Slave  States  be  created  outside  the  Union,  eventually 
to  be  drawn  in?  Why  not?  said  the  slave  profiteer,  and 
gave  money  and  assistance  to  the  filibusters  in  Nicaragua. 
Why  not?  said  Lincoln,  also.  What  protection  against 
such  an  extension  of  boundaries?  Was  the  limitation  of 
slave  area  to  be  on  one  side  only,  the  Northern  side?  And 
here  at  last,  for  Lincoln,  was  what  appeared  to  be  the  true 
issue  of  the  moment.  To  dualize  the  Union,  assuming  its 
boundaries  to  be  fixed,  was  one  thing.  To  dualize  the 
Union  in  the  face  of  a movement  for  extension  of  bound- 
aries was  another.  Hence  it  was  now  vital,  as  Lincoln 
reasoned,  to  give  slavery  a fixed  boundary  on  all  sides. 
Silently,  while  others  fulminated,  or  rhapsodized,  or  wailed, 
he  had  moved  inexorably  to  a new  position  which  was 
nothing  but  a logical  development  of  the  old.  The  old 
position  was — no  extension  of  slave  territory;  the  new  posi- 


THE  CRISIS 


115 

tion  was — no  more  Slave  States.^  Because  Crittenden’s 
Compromise  left  it  possible  to  have  a new  Slave  State  in 
Cuba,  a new  Slave  State  in  Nicaragua,  perhaps  a dozen 
such  new  States,  Lincoln  refused  to  compromise.^ 

It  was  a terrible  decision,  carrying  within  it  the  possi- 
bility of  civil  war.  But  Lincoln  could  not  be  moved.  This 
was  the  first  acquaintance  of  the  established  political  leaders 
with  his  inflexible  side.  In  the  recesses  of  his  own  thoughts 
the  decision  had  been  reached.  It  was  useless  to  argue 
with  him.  Weed  carried  back  his  ultimatum.  Seward 
abandoned  Crittenden’s  scheme.  The  only  chance  for 
compromise  passed  away.  The  Southern  leaders  set  about 
their  plans  for  organizing  a Southern  Confederacy. 


XIII 


ECLIPSE 

Lincoln’s  ultimatum  of  December  twentieth  contained 
three  proposals  that  might  be  made  to  the  Southern  leaders : 
^ That  the  enforcement  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  which 
hitherto  had  been  left  to  State  authorities  should  be  taken 
over  by  Congress  and  supported  by  the  Republicans. 

That  the  Republicans  to  the  extent  of  their  power  should 
work  for  the  repeal  of  all  those  “Personal  Liberty  Laws” 
which  had  been  established  in  certain  Northern  States  to 
defeat  the  operation  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law. 

That  the  Federal  Union  must  be  preserved.^ 

In  presenting  these  proposals  along  with  a refusal  to 
consider  the  Crittenden  Compromise,  Seward  tampered  with 
their  clear-cut  form.  Fearful  of  the  effect  on  the  extrem- 
ists of  the  Republican  group,  he  withheld  Lincoln’s  uncon- 
ditional promise  to  maintain  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  and 
instead  of  pledging  his  party  to  the  repeal  of  Personal 
Liberty  Laws  he  promised  only  to  have  Congress  request 
the  States  to  repeal  them.  He  suppressed  altogether  the 
assertion  that  the  Union  must  be  preserved.^  About  the 
same  time,  in  a public  speech,  he  said  he  was  not  going  to 
be  “humbugged”  by  the  bogy  of  secession,  and  gave  his 
fatuous  promise  that  all  the  trouble  would  be  ended  inside 
ninety  days.  For  all  his  brilliancy  of  a sort,  he  was  spirit- 
ually obtuse.  On  him,  as  on  Douglas,  Fate  had  lavished 
opportunities  to  see  life  as  it  iS;  to  understand  the  motives 

ii6 


ECLIPSE 


tv 

of  men;  but  it  could  not  make  him  use  them.  He  was 
incorrigibly  cynical.  He  could  not  divest  himself  of  the 
idea  that  all  this  confusion  was  hubbub,  was  but  an  ordinary 
political  game,  that  his  only  cue  was  to  assist  his  adver- 
saries in  saving  their  faces.  In  spite  of  his  rich  experience, 
in  spite  of  being  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world, — at 
least  in  his  own  estimation — he  was  as  blind  to  the  real 
motives  of  that  Southern  majority  which  had  rejected 
Breckinridge  as  was  the  inexperienced  Lincoln.  The  cool- 
ness with  which  he  modified  Lincoln’s  proposals  was  evi- 
dence that  he  considered  himself  the  great  Republican  and 
Lincoln  an  accident.  He  was  to  do  the  same  again — to  his 
own  regret. 

When  Lincoln  issued  his  ultimatum,  he  was  approach- 
ing the  summit,  if  not  at  the  very  summit,  of  another  of  his 
successive  waves  of  vitality,  of  self-confidence.  That  de- 
pression which  came  upon  him  about  the  end  of  1858,  which 
kept  him  undecided,  in  a mood  of  excessive  caution  during 
most  of  1859,  had  passed  away.  The  presidential  campaign 
with  its  thrilling  tension,  its  excitement,  had  charged  him 
anew  with  confidence.  Although  one  more  eclipse  was  in 
store  for  him — the  darkest  eclipse  of  all — he  was  very 
nearly  the  definitive  Lincoln  of  history.  At  least,  he  had 
the  courage  which  that  Lincoln  was  to  show. 

He  was  now  the  target  for  a besieging  army  of  politi- 
cians clamoring  for  ‘‘spoils”  in  the  shape  of  promises  of 
preferment.  It  was  a miserable  and  disgraceful  assault 
which  profoundly  offended  him.^  To  his  mind  this  was 
not  the  same  thing  as  the  simple-hearted  personal  politics 
of  his  younger  days — friends  standing  together  and  helping 
one  another  along — but  a gross  and  monstrous  rapacity. 
It  was  the  first  chill  shadow  that  followed  the  election  day. 


ii8 


LINCOLN 


There  were  difficult  intrigues  over  the  Cabinet.  Prom- 
ises made  by  his  managers  at  Chicago  were  presented  for 
redemption.  Rival  candidates  bidding  for  his  favor,  tried 
to  cut  each  other’s  throats.  For  example,  there  was  the 
intrigue  of  the  War  Department.  The  Lincoln  managers 
had  promised  a Cabinet  appointment  to  Pennsylvania;  the 
followers  of  Simon  Cameron  were  a power;  it  had  been 
necessary  to  win  them  over  in  order  to  nominate  Lincoln; 
they  insisted  that  their  leader  was  now  entitled  to  the  Penn- 
sylvania seat  in  the  Cabinet ; but  there  was  an  anti-Cameron 
faction  almost  as  potent  in  Pennsylvania  as  the  Cameron 
faction.  Both  sent  their  agents  to  Springfield  to  lay  siege 
to  Lincoln.  In  this  duel,  the  Cameron  forces  won  the  first 
round.  Lincoln  offered  him  the  Secretaryship.  Subse- 
quently, his  enemies  made  so  good  a case  that  Lincoln  was 
convinced  of  the  unwisdom  of  his  decision  and  withdrew 
the  offer.  But  Cameron  had  not  kept  the  offer  confidential. 
The  withdrawal  would  discredit  him  politically  and  put  a 
trump  card  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  A long  dispute 
followed.  Not  until  Lincoln  had  reached  Washington,  im- 
mediately before  the  inauguration,  was  the  dispute  ended, 
the  withdrawal  withdrawn,  and  Cameron  appointed.^ 

It  was  a dreary  winter  for  the  President-elect.  It  was 
also  a brand-new  experience.  For  the  first  time  he  was  a 
dispenser  of  favor  on  a grand  scale.  Innumerable  men 
showed  their  meanest  side,  either  to  advance  themselves  or 
to  injure  others.  As  the  weeks  passed  and  the  spectacle 
grew  in  shamelessness,  his  friends  became  more  and  more 
conscious  of  his  peculiar  melancholy.  The  elation  of  the 
campaign  subsided  into  a deep  unhappiness  over  the  vanity 
of  this  world. 

Other  phases  of  the  shadowy  side  of  his  character  also 


ECLIPSE 


119 

asserted  themselves.  Conspicuous  was  a certain  trend  in 
his  thinking  that  was  part  of  Herndon’s  warrant  for  calling 
him  a fatalist.  Lincoln’s  mysticism  very  early  had  taken  a 
turn  toward  predestination,  coupled  with  a belief  in  dreams.^ 
He  did  not  in  any  way  believe  in  magic;  he  never  had  any 
faith  in  divinations,  in  the  occult,  in  any  secret  mode  of 
alluring  the  unseen  powers  to  take  one’s  side.  Nevertheless, 
he  made  no  bones  about  being  superstitious.  And  he 
thought  that  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before,  that 
something,  at  least,  of  the  future  was  sometimes  revealed 
through  dreams.  “Nature,”  he  would  say,  “is  the  work- 
shop of  the  Almighty,  and  we  form  but  links  in  the  chain 
of  intellectual  and  material  life.”^  Byron’s  Dream  v/as  one 
of  his  favorite  poems.  He  pondered  those  ancient,  histori- 
cal tales  which  make  free  use  of  portents.  There  was  a 
fascination  for  him  in  the  story  of  Caracalla — how  his 
murder  of  Geta  was  foretold,  how  he  was  upbraided  by  the 
ghosts  of  his  father  and  brother.  This  dream-faith  of  his 
was  as  real  as  was  a similar  faith  held  by  the  authors  of  the 
Old  Testament.  He  had  his  theory  of  the  interpretation 
of  dreams.  Because  they  were  a universal  experience — 
as  he  believed,  the  universal  mode  of  communication  be- 
tween the  unseen  and  the  seen — his  beloved  “plain  people,” 
the  “children  of  Nature,”  the  most  universal  types  of  hu- 
manity, were  their  best  interpreters.  He  also  believed  in 
presentiment.  As  faithfully  as  the  simplest  of  the  brood 
of  the  forest — those  recreated  primitives  who  regulated  their 
farming  by  the  brightness  or  the  darkness  of  the  moon,  who 
planted  corn  or  slaughtered  hogs  as  Artemis  directed — he 
trusted  a presentiment  if  once  it  really  took  possession  of 
him.  A presentiment  which  had  been  formed  before  this 
time,  we  know  not  when,  was  clothed  with  authority  by  a 


120 


LINCOLN 


dream,  or  rather  a vision,  that  came  to  him  in  the  days  of 
melancholy  disillusion  during  the  last  winter  at  Springfield. 
Looking  into  a mirror,  he  saw  two  Lincolns, — one  alive, 
the  other  dead.  It  was  this  vision  which  clenched  his  pre- 
sentiment that  he  was  born  to  a great  career  and  to  a tragic 
end.  He  interpreted  the  vision  that  his  administration 
would  be  successful,  but  that  it  would  close  with  his  death.'^ 

The  record  of  his  inner  life  during  the  last  winter  at 
Springfield  is  very  dim.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a 
desolating  change  attacked  his  spirit.  As  late  as  the  day 
of  his  ultimatum  he  was  still  in  comparative  sunshine,  or, 
at  least  his  clouds  were  not  close  about  him.  His  will  was 
steel,  that  day.  Nevertheless,  a friend  who  visited  him  in 
January,  to  talk  over  their  days  together,  found  not  only 
that  “the  old-time  zest”  was  lacking,  but  that  it  was  replaced 
by  “gloom  and  despondency.”®  The  ghosts  that  hovered  so 
frequently  at  the  back  of  his  mind,  the  brooding  tendencies 
which  fed  upon  his  melancholy  and  made  him  at  times  ir- 
resolute, were  issuing  from  the  shadows,  trooping  forward, 
to  encompass  him  roundabout. 

In  the  midst  of  this  spiritual  reaction,  he  was  further 
depressed  by  the  stern  news  from  the  South  and  from 
Washington.  His  refusal  to  compromise  was  beginning  to 
bear  fruit.  The  Gulf  States  seceded.  A Southern  Con- 
federacy was  formed.  There  is  no  evidence  that  he  lost 
faith  in  his  course,  but  abundant  evidence  that  he  was 
terribly  unhappy.  He  was  preyed  upon  by  his  sense  of 
helplessness,  while  Buchanan  through  his  weakness  and 
vacillation  was  “giving  away  the  case.”  “Secession  is  being 
fostered,”  said  he,  “rather  than  repressed,  and  if  the  doc- 
trine meets  with  general  acceptance  in  the  Border  States,  it 
will  be  a great  blow  to  the  government.”^  He  did  not  de- 


ECLIPSE 


121 


ceive  himself  upon  the  possible  effect  of  his  ultimatum,  and 
sent  word  to  General  Scott  to  be  prepared  to  hold  or  to 
''retake”  the  forts  garrisoned  by  Federal  troops  in  the 
Southern  States.^® 

All  the  while  his  premonition  of  the  approach  of  doom 
grew  more  darkly  oppressive.  The  trail  of  the  artist  is 
discernible  across  his  thoughts.  In  his  troubled  imagina- 
tion he  identified  his  own  situation  with  that  of  the  protag- 
onist in  tragedies  on  the  theme  of  fate.  He  did  not  withhold 
his  thoughts  from  the  supreme  instance.  That  same  friend 
who  found  him  possessed  of  gloom  preserved  these  words 
of  his : "I  have  read  on  my  knees  the  story  of  Gethsemane, 
when  the  Son  of  God  prayed  in  vain  that  the  cup  of  bitter- 
ness might  pass  from  him.  I am  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsem- 
ane now  and  my  cup  of  bitterness  is  full  and  overflowing 
now.”^^ 

"Like  some  strong  seer  in  a trance, 

Seeing  all  his  own  mischance. 

With  a glassy  countenance,” 

he  faced  toward  Washington,  toward  the  glorious  terror 
promised  him  by  his  superstitions. 

The  last  days  before  the  departure  were  days  of  mingled 
gloom,  desperation,  and  the  attempt  to  recover  hope.  He 
visited  his  old  stepmother  and  made  a pilgrimage  tO'  his 
father’s  grave.  His  thoughts  fondly  renewed  the  details 
of  his  past  life,  lingered  upon  this  and  that,  as  if  fearful 
that  it  was  all  slipping  away  from  him  forever.  And  then 
he  roused  himself  as  if  in  sudden  revolt  against  the  Fates. 
The  day  before  he  left  Springfield  forever  Lincoln  met  his 
partner  for  the  last  time  at  their  law  office  to  wind  up  the 
last  of  their  unsettled  business.  "After  those  things  were 
all  disposed  of,”  says  Herndon,  "he  crossed  to  the  opposite 


122 


LINCOLN 


side  of  the  room  and  threw  himself  down  on  the  old  office 
sofa.  . . . He  lay  there  for  some  moments  his  face  to 

the  ceiling  without  either  of  us  speaking.  Presently,  he  in-' 
quired:  ‘Billy’ — he  always  called  me  by  that  name — ‘how 
long  have  we  been  together?’  ‘Over  sixteen  years,’  I an- 
swered. ‘We’ve  never  had  a cross  word  during  all  that 
time,  have  we?’  . . . He  gathered  a bundle  of  papers 

and  books  he  wished  to  take  with  him  and  started  to  go, 
but  before  leaving,  he  made  the  strange  request  that  the 
sign  board  which  swung  on  its  rusty  hinges  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairway  would  remain.  ‘Let  it  hang  there  undis- 
turbed,’ he  said,  with  a significant  lowering  of  the  voice. 
‘Give  our  clients  to  understand  that  the  election  of  a Presi- 
dent makes  no  change  in  the  firm  of  Lincoln  & Herndon. 
If  I live,  I am  coming  back  some  time,  and  then  we’ll  go 
right  on  practising  law  as  if  nothing  had  happened.’  He 
lingered  for  a moment  as  if  to  take  a last  look  at  the  old 
quarters,  and  then  passed  through  the  door  into  the  narrow 

hallway.”i2 

On  a dreary  day  with  a cold  rain  falling,  he  set  forth. 
The  railway  station  was  packed  with  friends.  He  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd  slowly,  shaking  hands.  “Hav- 
ing finally  reached  the  train,  he  ascended  the  rear  platform, 
and,  facing  about  to  the  throng  which  had  closed  about  him, 
drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  removed  his  hat  and 
stood  for  several  seconds  in  profound  silence.  His  eyes 
roved  sadly  over  that  sea  of  upturned  faces.  . . . 

There  was  an  unusual  quiver  on  his  lips  and  a still  more 
unusual  tear  on  his  shriveled  cheek.  His  solemn  manner, 
his  long  silence,  were  as  full  of  melancholy  eloquence  as  any 
words  he  could  have  uttered.”^^  At  length,  he  spoke: 
“My  friends,  no  one  not  in  my  situation  can  appreciate  my 


ECLIPSE 


123 


feeling  of  sadness  at  this  parting.  To  this  place  and  the 
kindness  of  these  people,  I owe  everything.  Here  I have 
lived  a quarter  of  a century,  and  have  passed  from  a young 
to  an  old  man.  Plere  my  children  have  been  born  and  one 
is  buried.  I now  leave,  not  knowing  when  or  whether  ever, 
I may  return,  with  a task  before  me  greater  than  that  which 
rested  upon  Washington.  Without  the  assistance  of  that 
Divine  Being  who  ever  attended  him,  I can  not  succeed. 
With  that  assistance,  I can  not  fail.  Trusting  in  Him  who 
can  go  with  me  and  remain  with  you,  and  be  everywhere  for 
good,  let  us  confidently  hope  that  all  will  yet  be  well.  To 
His  care  commending  you,  as  I hope  in  your  prayers  you 
will  commend  me,  I bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell.”^^ 


CONFUSIONS 


XIV 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 

There  is  a period  of  sixteen  months — from  February, 
i86i,  to  a day  in  June,  1862, — when  Lincoln  is  the  most 
singular,  the  most  problematic  of  statesmen.  Out  of  this 
period  he  issues  with  apparent  abruptness,  the  final  Lincoln, 
with  a place  among  the  few  consummate  masters  of  state- 
craft. During  the  sixteen  months,  his  genius  comes  and 
goes.  His  confidence,  whether  in  himself  or  in  others,  is 
an  uncertain  quantity.  At  times  he  is  bold,  even  rash;  at 
others,  irresolute.  The  constant  factor  in  his  mood  all  this 
while  is  his  amazing  humility.  He  seems  to  have  forgotten 
his  own  existence.  As  a person  with  likes  and  dislikes, 
with  personal  hopes  and  fears,  he  has  vanished.  He  is  but 
an  afflicted  and  perplexed  mind,  struggling  desperately  to 
save  his  country.  A selfless  man,  he  may  be  truly  called 
through  months  of  torment  which  made  him  over  from  a 
theoretical  to  a practical  statesman.  He  entered  this  period 
a literary  man  who  had  been  elevated  almost  by  accident  to 
the  position  of  a leader  in  politics.  After  many  blunders, 
after  doubt,  hesitation  and  pain,  he  came  forth  from  this 
stern  ordeal  a powerful  man  of  action. 

The  impression  which  he  made  on  the  country  at  the  v" 
opening  of  this  period  was  unfortunate.  The  very  power 
that  had  hitherto  been  the  making  of  him — the  literary 
power,  revealing  to  men  in  wonderfully  convincing  form 
the  ideas  which  they  felt  within  them  but  could  not 

127 


128 


LINCOLN 


utter — this  had  deserted  him.  Explain  the  psychology  of  it 
any  way  you  will,  there  is  the  fact ! The  speeches  Lincoln 
made  on  the  way  to  Washington  during  the  latter  part  of 
February  were  appallingly  unlike  himself.  His  mind  had 
suddenly  fallen  dumb.  He  had  nothing  to  say.  The  gloom, 
the  desolation  that  had  penetrated  his  soul,  somehow,  for 
the  moment,  made  him  commonplace.  When  he  talked — 
as  convention  required  him  to  do  at  all  his  stopping  places — 
his  words  were  but  faint  echoes  of  the  great  political  ex- 
ponent he  once  had  been.  His  utterances  were  fatuous; 
mere  exhortations  to  the  country  not  to  worry.  “There  is 
no  crisis  but  an  artificial  one,”  he  said.^  And  the  country 
stood  aghast ! Amazement,  bewilderment,  indignation,  was 
the  course  of  the  reaction  in  many  minds  of  his  own  party. 
Their  verdict  was  expressed  in  the  angry  language  of 
Samuel  Bowles,  “Lincoln  is  a Simple  Susan. 

In  private  talk,  Lincoln  admitted  that  he  was  “more 
troubled  about  the  outlook  than  he  thought  it  discreet  to 
show.”  This  remark  was  made  to  a “Public  Man,”  whose 
diary  has  been  published  but  whose  identity  is  still  secret. 
Though  keenly  alert  for  any  touch  of  weakness  or  absurdity 
in  the  new  President,  calling  him  “the  most  ill-favored  son 
of  Adam  I ever  saw,”  the  Public  Man  found  him  “crafty 
and  sensible.”  In  conversation,  the  old  Lincoln,  the  match- 
less phrase-maker,  could  still  express  himself.  At  New 
York  he  was  told  of  a wild  scheme  that  was  on  foot  to 
separate  the  city  from  the  North,  form  a city  state  such 
as  Hamburg  then  was,  and  set  up  a commercial  alliance 
with  the  Confederacy.  “As  to  the  free  city  business,”  said 
Lincoln,  “well,  I reckon  it  will  be  some  time  before  the 
front  door  sets  up  bookkeeping  on  its  own  account.”^  The 
formal  round  of  entertainment  on  his  way  to  Washington 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


129 


wearied  Lincoln  intensely.  Harassed  and  preoccupied,  he 
was  generally  ill  at  ease.  And  he  was  totally  unused  to 
sumptuous  living.  Failures  in  social  usage  were  inevitable. 
New  York  was  convulsed  with  amusement  because  at  the 
opera  he  wore  a pair  of  huge  black  kid  gloves  which  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  whole  house,  “hanging  as  they 
did  over  the  red  velvet  box  front.”  At  an  informal  recep- 
tion, between  acts  in  the  director’s  room,  he  looked  terribly 
bored  and  sat  on  the  sofa  at  the  end  of  the  room  with  his 
hat  pushed  back  on  his  head.  Caricatures  filled  the  opposi- 
tion papers.  He  was  spoken  of  as  the  “Illinois  ape”  and 
the  “gorilla.”  Every  rash  remark,  every  “break”  in  social 
form,  every  gaucherie  was  seized  upon  and  ridiculed  with- 
out mercy. 

There  is  no  denying  that  the  oddities  of  Lincoln’s  man- 
ner  though  quickly  dismissed  from  thought  by  men  of 
genius,  seriously  troubled  even  generous  men  who  lacked 
the  intuitions  of  genius.  And  he  never  overcame  these 
oddities.  During  the  period  of  his  novitiate  as  a ruler,  the 
critical  sixteen  months,  they  were  carried  awkwardly,  with 
embarrassment.  Later  when  he  had  found  himself  as  a 
ruler,  when  his  self-confidence  had  reached  its  ultimate  form 
and  he  knew  what  he  really  was,  he  forgot  their  existence. 
None  the  less,  they  were  always  a part  of  him,  his  indelible 
envelope.  At  the  height  of  his  power,  he  received  visitors 
with  his  feet  in  leather  slippers.^  He  discussed  great  affairs 
of  state  with  one  of  those  slippered  feet  flung  up  on  to  a 
corner  of  his  desk.  A favorite  attitude,  even  when  debating 
vital  matters  with  the  great  ones  of  the  nation,  is  described 
by  his  secretaries  as  “sitting  on  his  shoulders” — ^he  would 
slide  far  down  into  his  chair  and  stick  up  both  slippers  so 
high  above  his  head  that  they  could  rest  with  ease  upon 


130 


LINCOLN 


his  mantelpiece.^  No  wonder  that  his  enemies  made  un< 
limited  fun.  And  they  professed  to  believe  that  there  was 
an  issue  here.  When  the  elegant  McClellan  was  moving 
heaven  and  earth,  as  he  fancied,  to  get  the  army  out  of  its 
shirt-sleeves,  the  President’s  manner  was  a cause  of  endless 
irritation.  Still  more  serious  was  the  effect  of  his  manner 
on  many  men  who  agreed  with  him  otherwise.  Such  a 
high-minded  leader  as  Governor  Andrew  of  Massachusetts 
never  got  over  the  feeling  that  Lincoln  was  a rowdy.  How 
could  a rowdy  be  the  salvation  of  the  country?  In  the 
dark  days  of  1864,  when  a rebellion  against  his  leadership 
was  attempted,  this  merely  accidental  side  of  him  was  an 
element  of  danger.  The  barrier  it  had  created  between 
himself  and  the  more  formal  types,  made  it  hard  for  the 
men  who  finally  saved  him  to  overcome  their  prejudice  and 
nail  his  colors  to  the  mast.  Andrew’s  biographer  shows 
himself  a shrewd  observer  when  he  insists  on  the  unex- 
pressed but  inexorable  scale  by  which  Andrew  and  his  fol- 
lowing measured  Lincoln.  They  had  grown  up  in  the  faith 
that  you  could  tell  a statesman  by  certain  external  signs, 
chiefly  by  a grandiose  and  commanding  aspect  such  as  made 
overpowering  the  presence  of  Webster.  And  this  idea  was 
not  confined  to  any  one  locality.  Everywhere,  more  or  less, 
the  conservative  portion  in  every  party  held  this  view.  It 
was  the  view  of  Washington  in  1848  when  Washington  had 
failed  to  see  the  real  Lincoln  through  his  surface  peculi- 
arities. It  was  again  the  view  of  Washington  when  Lincoln 
returned  to  it. 

Furthermore,  his  free  way  of  talking,  the  broad  stories 
he  continued  to  tell,  were  made  counts  in  his  indictment. 
One  of  the  bequests  of  Puritanism  in  America  is  the  ideal, 
at  least,  of  extreme  scrupulousness  in  talk.  To  many  sim 


Mary  Todd  Lincoln 


LfIRARV 
Of  THE 

UNIVERSITY  Of  lltIHOIS 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


131 

cere  men  Lincoln’s  choice  of  fables  was  often  a deadly 
offense.  Charles  Francis  Adams  never  got  over  the  shock 
of  their  first  interview.  Lincoln  clenched  a point  with  a 
broad  story.  Adany  professional  politicians  who  had  no 
objection  to  such  talk  in  itself,  glared  and  sneered  when  the 
President  used  it — because  forsooth,  it  might  estrange  a 
vote. 

Then,  too,  Lincoln  had  none  of  the  social  finesse  that 
might  have  adapted  his  manner  to  various  classes.  Pie  was 
always  incorrigibly  the  democrat  pure  and  simple.  He 
would  have  laughed  uproariously  over  that  undergraduate 
humor,  the  joy  of  a famous  American  University,  sup- 
posedly strong  on  Democracy : 

‘Where  God  speaks  to  Jones,  in  the  very  same  tones, 
That  he  uses  to  Hadley  and  Dwight.” 

Though  Lincoln’s  queer  aplomb,  his  good-humored 
familiarity  on  first  acquaintance,  delighted  most  of  his  visi- 
tors, it  offended  many.  It  was  lacking  in  tact.  Often  it 
was  a clumsy  attempt  to  be  jovial  too  soon,  as  when  he 
addressed  Greeley  by  the  name  of  “Horace”  almost  on  first 
sight.  Plis  devices  for  putting  men  on  the  familiar  foot- 
ing lacked  originality.  The  frequency  with  which  he  called 
upon  a tall  visitor  to  measure  up  against  him  reveals  the 
poverty  of  his  social  invention.  He  applied  this  device  with 
equal  thoughtlessness  to  the  stately  Sumner,  who  protested, 
and  to  a nobody  who  grinned  and  was  delighted. 

It  was  this  mere  envelope  of  the  genius  that  was  de-'^ 
plorably  evident  on  the  journey  from  Springfield  to  Wash- 
ington. There  was  one  detail  of  the  journey  that  gave  his 
enemies  a more  definite  ground  for  sneering.  By  the  irony 
of  fate,  the  first  clear  instance  of  Lincoln’s  humility,  his 


132 


LINCOLN 


reluctance  to  set  up  his  own  judgment  against  his  ad- 
visers, was  also  his  first  serious  mistake.  There  is  a dis- 
tinction here  that  is  vital.  Lincoln  was  entering  on  a new 
role,  the  role  of  the  man  of  action.  Hitherto  all  the  great 
decisions  of  his  life  had  been  speculative;  they  had  devel- 
oped from  within;  they  dealt  with  ideas.  The  inflexible 
side  of  him  was  intellectual.  Now,  without  any  adequate 
apprenticeship,  he  was  called  upon  to  make  practical  de- 
cisions, to  decide  on  courses  of  action,  at  one  step  to  pass 
from  the  dream  of  statecraft  to  its  application.  Inevitably, 
for  a considerable  time,  he  was  two  people ; he  passed  back 
and  forth  from  one  to  the  other;  only  by  degrees  did  he 
bring  the  two  together.  Meanwhile,  he  appeared  contra- 
dictory. Inwardly,  as  a thinker,  his  development  was  un- 
broken; he  was  still  cool,  inflexible,  drawing  all  his  con- 
clusions out  of  the  depths  of  himself.  Outwardly,  in  action, 
he  was  learning  the  new  task,  hesitatingly,  with  vacillation, 
with  excessive  regard  to  the  advisers  whom  he  treated  as 
experts  in  action.  It  was  no  slight  matter  for  an  extraor- 
dinarily sensitive  man  to  take  up  a new  role  at  fifty-two. 

This  first  official  mistake  of  Lincoln’s  was  in  giving  way 
to  the  fears  of  his  retinue  for  his  safety.  The  time  had 
become  hysterical.  The  wildest  sort  of  stories  filled  the  air. 
Even  before  he  left  Springfield  there  were  rumors  of  plots 
to  assassinate  him.®  On  his  arrival  at  Philadelphia  informa- 
tion was  submitted  to  his  companions  which  convinced  them 
that  his  life  was  in  danger — an  attempt  would  be  made  to 
kill  him  as  he  passed  through  Baltimore.  Seward  at  Wash- 
ington had  heard  the  same  story  and  had  sent  his  son  to 
Philadelphia  to  advise  caution.  Lincoln’s  friends  insisted 
that  he  leave  his  special  train  and  proceed  to  Washington 
with  only  one  companion,  on  an  ordinary  night  train.  Rail- 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


133 


way  officials  were  called  in.  Elaborate  precautions  were 
arranged.  The  telegraph  lines  were  all  to  be  disconnected 
for  a number  of  hours  so  that  even  if  the  conspirators — 
assuming  there  were  any — should  discover  his  change  of 
plan,  they  would  be  unable  to  communicate  with  Baltimore. 
The  one  soldier  in  the  party,  Colonel  Sumner,  vehemently 
protested  that  these  changes  were  all  “a  damned  piece  of 
cowardice.”  But  Lincoln  acquiesced  in  the  views  of  the 
majority  of  his  advisers.  He  passed  through  Baltimore 
virtually  in  disguise ; nothing  happened ; no  certain  evidence 
of  a conspiracy  was  discovered.  And  all  his  enemies  took 
up  the  cry  of  cowardice  and  rang  the  changes  upon  it.’’ 

Meanwhile,  despite  all  this  semblance  of  indecision,  of 
feebleness,  there  were  signs  that  the  real  inner  Lincoln,  how- 
ever clouded,  was  still  alive.  By  v/ay  of  offset  to  his  fatuous 
utterances,  there  might  have  been  set,  had  the  country  been 
in  a mood  to  weigh  with  care,  several  strong  and  clear  pro- 
nouncements. And  these  were  not  merely  telling  phrases 
like  that  characteristic  one  about  the  bookkeeping  of  the 
front  door.  His  mind  was  struggling  out  of  its  shadow. 
And  the  mode  of  its  reappearance  was  significant.  His 
reasoning  upon  the  true  meaning  of  the  struggle  he  was 
about  to  enter,  reached  a significant  stage  in  the  speech 
he  made  at  Harrisburg.® 

‘T  have  often  inquired  of  myself,”  he  said,  ‘'what  great 
principle  or  idea  it  was  that  kept  this  Confederacy  [the 
United  States]  so  long  together.  It  was  not  the  mere 
matter  of  the  separation  of  the  colonies  from  the  mother- 
land, but  that  sentiment  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
which  gave  liberty  not  alone  to  the  people  of  the  country 
but  hope  to  all  the  world  for  all  future  time.  It  was  that 
which  gave  promise  that  in  due  time  the  weights  would 


134 


LINCOLN 


be  lifted  from  the  shoulders  of  all  men  and  that  all  should 
have  an  equal  chance.  This  is  the  sentiment  embodied  in 
the  Declaration  of  Independence.  No\v,  my  friends,  can 
this  country  be  saved  on  that  basis?  If  it  can,  I will  con- 
sider myself  one  of  the  happiest  men  in  the  world,  if  I can 
help  to  save  it.  If  it  can  not  be  saved  upon  that  principle, 
it  will  be  truly  awful.  But  if  this  country  can  not  be  saved 
without  giving  up  that  principle,  I was  about  to  say  I 
would  rather  be  assassinated  on  this  spot  than  surrender 
it.  Now,  in  my  view  of  the  present  aspect  of  affairs,  there 
is  no  need  of  bloodshed  and  war.  There  is  no  necessity  for 
it.  I am  not  in  favor  of  such  a course,  and  I may  say  in 
advance  that  there  will  be  no  bloodshed  unless  it  is  forced 
upon  the  government.  The  government  will  not  use  force 
unless  force  is  used  against  it.” 

The  two  ideas  underlying  this  utterance  had  grown  in 
his  thought  steadily,  consistently,  ever  since  their  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  Protest  twenty-four  years  previous.  The 
great  issue  to  which  all  else — slavery,  ‘‘dominion  status,” 
everything — was  subservient,  was  the  preservation  of  demo- 
cratic institutions;  the  means  to  that  end  was  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  Federal  government.  Now,  as  in  1852,  his 
paramount  object  was  not  to  “disappoint  the  Liberal  party 
throughout  the  world,”  to  prove  that  Democracy,  when 
applied  on  a great  scale,  had  yet  sufficient  coherence  to  re- 
main intact,  no  matter  how  powerful,  nor  how  plausible, 
were  the  forces  of  disintegration. 

Dominated  by  this  purpose  he  came  to  Washington. 
There  he  met  Seward.  It  was  the  stroke  of  fate  for  both 
men.  Seward,  indeed,  did  not  know  that  it  was.  He  was 
still  firmly  based  in  the  delusion  that  he,  not  Lincoln,  was 
the  genius  of  the  hour.  And  he  had  this  excuse,  that  it 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


135 


was  also  the  country’s  delusion.  There  was  pretty  general 
belief  both  among  friends  and  foes  that  Lincoln  would  be 
ruled  by  his  Cabinet.  In  a council  that  was  certain  to 
include  leaders  of  accepted  influence — Seward,  Chase, 
Cameron — what  chance  for  this  untried  newcomer,  whose 
prestige  had  been  reared  not  on  managing  men,  but  on 
uttering  words?  In  Seward’s  thoughts  the  answer  was  as 
inevitable  as  the  table  of  addition.  Equally  mathematical 
was  the  conclusion  that  only  one  unit  gave  value  to  the 
combination.  And,  of  course,  the  leader  of  the  Republicans 
in  the  Senate  was  the  unit.  A severe  experience  had  to  be 
lived  through  before  Seward  made  his  peace  with  destiny. 
Lincoln  was  the  quicker  to  perceive  when  they  came  to- 
gether that  something  had  happened.  Almost  from  the 
minute  of  their  meeting,  he  began  to  lean  upon  Seward  ; but 
only  in  a certain  way.  This  was  not  the  same  thing  as  that 
yielding  to  the  practical  advisers  which  began  at  Phila- 
delphia, which  v/as  subsecjuently  to  be  the  cause  of  so  much 
confusion.  His  response  to  Seward  was  intellectual.  It 
was  of  the  inner  man  and  revealed  itself  in  his  style  of 
writing. 

Hitherto,  Lincoln’s  progress  in  literature  had  been 
marked  by  the  development  of  two  characteristics  and  by 
the  lack  of  a third.  The  two  that  he  possessed  were  taste 
and  rhythm.  At  the  start  he  was  free  from  the  prevalent 
vice  of  his  time,  rhetoricality.  His  “Address  to  the  Voters 
of  Sangamon  County”  which  was  his  first  state  paper, 
was  as  direct,  as  free  from  bombast,  as  the  greatest  of  his 
later  achievements.  Almost  any  other  youth  who  had  as 
much  of  the  sense  of  language  as  was  there  exhibited, 
would  have  been  led  astray  by  the  standards  of  the  hour, 
would  have  mounted  the  spread-eagle  and  flapped  its  wings 


>136 


LINCOLN 


in  rhetorical  clamor.  But  Lincoln  was  not  precocious.  In 
art,  as  in  everything  else,  he  progressed  slowly;  the  literary 
part  of  him  worked  its  way  into  the  matter-of-fact  part  of 
him  with  the  gradualness  of  the  daylight  through  a 
shadowy  wood.  It  was  not  constant  in  its  development. 
For  many  years  it  was  little  more  than  an  irregular  deepen- 
ing of  his  two  original  characteristics,  taste  and  rhythm. 
His  taste,  fed  on  Blackstone,  Shakespeare,  and  the  Bible,  led 
him  more  and  more  exactingly  to  say  just  what  he  meant, 
to  eschew  the  wiles  of  decoration,  to  be  utterly  non-rhetor i- 
cal.  His  sense  of  rhythm,  beginning  simply,  no  more  at 
first  than  a good  ear  for  the  sound  of  words,  deepened  into 
keen  perception  of  the  character  of  the  word-march,  of  that 
extra  significance  which  is  added  to  an  idea  by  the  way  it 
conducts  itself,  moving  grandly  or  feebly  as  the  case  may 
be,  from  the  unknown  into  the  known,  and  thence  across 
a perilous  horizon,  into  memory.  On  the  basis  of  these  two 
characteristics  he  had  acquired  a style  that  was  a rich  blend  • 
of  simplicity,  directness,  candor,  joined  with  a clearness 
beyond  praise,  with  a delightful  cadence,  having  always  a 
splendidly  ordered  march  of  ideas. 

But  there  was  the  third  thing  in  which  the  earlier  style 
of  Lincoln’s  was  wanting.  Marvelously  apt  for  the  pur- 
pose of  the  moment,  his  writings  previous  to  i86i  are 
vanishing  from  the  world’s  memory.  The  more  notable 
writings  of  his  later  years  have  become  classics.  And  the 
difference  does  not  turn  on  subject-matter.  All  the  ideas 
of  his  late  writings  had  been  formulated  in  the  earlier.  The 
difference  is  purely  literary.  The  earlier  writings  were  keen, 
powerful,  full  of  character,  melodious,  impressive.  The  later 
writings  have  all  these  qualities,  and  in  addition,  that  con- 
stant power  to  awaken  the  imagination,  to  carry  an  idea 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


137 


beyond  its  own  horizon  into  a boundless  world  of  imperish- 
able literary  significance,  which  power  in  argumentative 
prose  is  beauty.  And  how  did  Lincoln  attain  this  ? That  he 
had  been  maturing  from  within  the  power  to  do  this,  one  is 
compelled  by  the  analogy  of  his  other  mental  experiences 
to  believe.  At  the  same  time,  there  can  be  no  doubt  who 
taught  him  the  trick,  who  touched  the  secret  spring  and 
opened  the  new  door  to  his  mind.  It  was  Seward.  Long 
since  it  had  been  agreed  between  them  that  Seward  was 
to  be  Secretary  of  State.^  Lincoln  asked  him  to  criticize 
his  inaugural.  Seward  did  so,  and  Lincoln,  in  the  main, 
accepted  his  criticism.  But  Seward  went  further.  He  pro- 
posed a new  paragraph.  He  was  not  a great  writer  and 
yet  he  had  something  of  that  third  thing  which  Lincoln 
hitherto  had  not  exhibited.  Elowever,  in  pursuing  beauty 
of  statement,  he  often  came  dangerously  near  to  mere  rhet- 
oric; his  taste  was  never  sure;  his  sense  of  rhythm  was 
. inferior;  the  defects  of  his  qualities  were  evident.  None 
the  less,  Lincoln  saw  at  a glance  that  if  he  could  infuse 
into  Seward’s  words  his  own  more  robust  qualities,  the  re- 
sult would  be  a richer  product  than  had  ever  issued  from  his 
own  qualities  as  hitherto  he  had  known  them.  He  effected 
this  transmutation  and  in  doing  so  raised  his  style  to  a 
new  range  of  effectiveness.  The  great  Lincoln  of  literature 
appeared  in  the  first  inaugural  and  particularly  in  that  noble 
passage  which  was  the  work  of  Lincoln  and  Seward  to- 
gether. In  a way  it  said  only  what  Lincoln  had  already 
said — especially  in  the  speech  at  Harrisburg — but  with  what 
a difference ! 

‘Tn  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow  countrymen,  and 
not  in  mine,  is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  The 
government  will  not  assail  you.  You  can  have  no  conflict 


138 


LINCOLN 


without  being  yourselves  the  aggressors.  You  have  no 
oath  registered  in  Heaven  to  destroy  the  government,  while 
I shall  have  the  most  solemn  one  to  preserve,  protect  and 
defend  it. 

am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies  but  friends. 
Though  passion  may  have  strained,  it  must  not  break  our 
bonds  of  affection.  The  mystic  chords  of  memory  stretch- 
ing from  every  battle-field  and  patriot  grave,  to  every  liv- 
ing heart  and  hearthstone  all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet 
swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union  when  again  touched  as  surely 
they  will  be,  by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature.”* 

These  words,  now  so  famous,  were  spoken  in  the 
east  portico  of  the  Capitol  on  “one  of  our  disagreeable, 
clear,  windy,  Washington  spring  days.”^^  Most  of  the  par- 
ticipants were  agitated;  many  were  alarmed.  Chief  Justice 
Taney  who  administered  the  oath  could ’hardly  speak,  so 
near  to  uncontrollable  was  his  emotion.  General  Scott 
anxiously  kept  his  eye  upon  the  crowd  which  was  com- 
manded by  cannon.  Cavalry  were  in  readiness  to  clear 

*Lincoln  VI,  184;  N.  & H.,  Ill,  343.  Seward  advised  the  omis- 
sion of  part  of  the  original  draft  of  the  first  of  these  two  paragraphs. 
After  “defend  it,”  Lincoln  had  written,  “You  can  forbear  the  assault 
upon  it.  I can  not  shrink  from  the  defense  of  it.  With  you  and  not 
with  me  is  the  solemn  question  ‘Shall  it  be  peace  or  a sword  ?’  ” Hav- 
ing struck  this  out,  he  accepted  Seward’s  advice  to  add  “some  words 
of  affection — some  of  calm  and  cheerful  confidence.” 

The  original  version  of  the  concluding  paragraph  was  prepared 
by  Seward  and  read  as  follows : “I  close.  We  are  not,  we  must  not 
be  aliens  or  enemies,  but  fellow-countrymen  and  brethren.  Although 
passion  has  strained  our  bonds  of  affection  too  hardly,  they  must  not, 
I am  sure,  they  will  not,  be  broken.  The  m3^stic  chords  which,  proceed- 
ing from  so  many  battle-fields  and  so  many  patriot  graves,  pass 
through  all  the  hearts  and  all  hearths  in  this  broad  continent  of 
ours,  will  yet  again  harmonize  in  their  ancient  music  when  breathed 
upon  by  the  guardian  angel  of  the  nation.” 


THE  STRANGE  NEW  MAN 


139 


the  streets  in  case  of  riot.  Lincoln’s  carriage  on  the  way 
to  the,  Capitol  had  been  closely  guarded.  He  made  his 
way  to  the  portico  between  files  of  soldiers.  So  intent — 
over-intent — were  his  guardians  upon  his  safety  that  they 
had  been  careless  of  the  smaller  matter  of  his  comfort. 
There  was  insufficient  room  for  the  large  company  that  had 
been  invited  to  attend.  The  new  President  stood  beside 
a rickety  little  table  and  saw  no  place  on  which  to  put  his 
hat.  Senator  Douglas  stepped  forward  and  relieved  him  of 
the  burden.  Lincoln  was  “pale  and  very  nervous,”  and  to- 
ward the  close  of  his  speech,  visibly  affected.  Observers 
differ  point-blank  as  to  the  way  the  inaugural  was  received. 
The  “Public  Man”  says  that  there  was  little  enthusiasm. 
The  opposite  version  makes  the  event  an  oratorical  triumph, 
with  the  crowd,  at  the  close,  completely  under  his  spell. 

On  the  whole,  the  inauguration  and  the  festivities  that 
followed  appear  to  have  formed  a dismal  event.  While 
Lincoln  spoke,  the  topmost  peak  of  the  Capitol,  far  above 
his  head,  was  an  idle  derrick;  the  present  dome  was  in 
process  of  construction;  work  on  it  had  been  arrested,  and 
who  could  say  when,  if  ever,  the  work  would  be  resumed? 
The  day  closed  with  an  inaugural  ball  that  was  anything 
but  brilliant.  “The  great  tawdry  ballroom  . . . not 

half  full — and  such  an  assemblage  of  strange  costumes,  male 
and  female.  Very  few  people  of  any  consideration  were 
there.  The  President  looked  exhausted  and  uncomfortable, 
and  most  ungainly  in  his  dress;  and  Mrs.  Lincoln  all  in 
blue,  with  a feather  in  her  hair  and  a highly  flushed 
face  . . .”12 


XV 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 

The  brilliant  Secretary,  who  so  promptly  began  to  influ- 
ence the  President  had  very  sure  foundations  for  that  influ- 
ence. He  was  inured  to  the  role  of  great  man;  he  had  a 
rich  experience  of  public  life;  while  Lincoln,  painfully  con- 
scious of  his  inexperience,  was  perhaps  the  humblest- 
minded  ruler  that  ever  took  the  helm  of  a ship  of  state  in 
perilous  times.  Furthermore,  Seward  had  some  priceless 
qualities  which,  for  Lincoln,  were  still  to  seek.  First  of  all, 
he  had  audacity  — personally,  artistically,  politically. 
Seward’s  instantaneous  gift  to  Lincoln  was  by  way  of 
throwing  wide  the  door  of  his  gathering  literary  audacity. 
There  is  every  reason  to  think  that  Seward’s  personal 
audacity  went  to  Lincoln’s  heart  at  once.  To  be  sure,  he 
was  not  yet  capable  of  going  along  with  it.  The  basal  con- 
trast of  the  first  month  of  his  administration  lies  between 
the  President’s  caution  and  the  boldness  of  the  Secretary. 
Nevertheless,  to  a sensitive  mind,  seeking  guidance,  sur- 
rounded by  less  original  types  of  politicians,  the  splendid 
fearlessness  of  Seward,  whether  wise  or  foolish,  must  have 
rung  like  a trumpet  peal  soaring  over  the  heads  of  a crowed 
whose  teeth  were  chattering.  While  the  rest  of  the  Cabinet 
pressed  their  ears  to  the  ground,  Seward  thought  out  a 
policy,  made  a forecast  of  the  future,  and  offered  to  stake 
his  head  on  the  correctness  of  his  reasoning.  This  may 
have  been  rashness;  it  may  have  been  folly;  but,  intellect- 
ually at  least,  it  w^as  valor.  Among  Lincoln’s  other  advisers, 

140 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


141 

valor  at  that  moment  was  lacking.  Contrast,  however,  was 
not  the  sole,  nor  the  surest  basis  of  Seward’s  appeal  to  Lin- 
coln. Their  characters  had  a common  factor.  For  all  their 
immeasurable  difference  in  externals,  both  at  bottom  were 
void  of  malice.  It  was  this  characteristic  above  all  others 
that  gave  them  spiritually  common  ground.  In  Seward, 
this  quality  had  been  under  fire  for  a long  while.  The 
political  furies  of  ‘‘that  iron  time”  had  failed  to  rouse  echoes 
in  his  serene  and  smiling  soul.  Therefore,  many  men  who 
accepted  him  as  leader  because,  indeed,  they  could  not  do 
without  him — ^because  none  other  in  their  camp  had  his 
genius  for  management,  for  the  glorification  of  political  in- 
trigue— these  same  men  followed  him  doubtfully,  with  bad 
grace,  willing  to  shift  to  some  other  leader  whenever  he 
might  arise.  The  clue  to  their  distrust  was  Seward’s  amuse- 
ment at  the  furious.  Could  a man  who  laughed  when  you 
preached  on  the  beauty  of  the  hewing  of  Agag,  could  such 
a man  be  sincere  ? And  that  Seward  in  some  respects  was 
not  sincere,  -history  generally  admits.  He  loved  to  poke 
fun  at  his  opponents  by  appearing  to  sneer  at  himself,  by 
ridiculing  the  idea  that  he  was  ever  serious.  His  scale  of 
political  values  was  different  from  that  of  most  of  his  fol- 
lowers. Nineteen  times  out  of  twenty,  he  would  treat  what 
they  termed  “principles”  as  mere  political  counters,  as  legiti- 
mate subjects  of  bargain.  If  by  any  deal  he  could  trade  off 
any  or  all  of  these  nineteen  in  order  to  secure  the  twentieth, 
which  for  him  was  the  only  vital  one,  he  never  scrupled  to 
do  so.  Against  a lurid  background  of  political  ferocity,  this 
amused,  ironic  figure  came  to  be  rated  by  the  extremists, 
both  in  his  own  and  in  the  enemy  camp  as  Mephistopheles. 

No  quality  could  have  endeared  him  more  certainly  to 
Lincoln  than  the  very  one  which  the  bigots  misunderstood 


142 


LINCOLN 


From  his  earliest  youth  Lincoln  had  been  governed  by  this 
same  quality.  With  his  non-censorious  mind,  which  accepted 
so  much  of  life  as  he  found  it,  which  was  forever  stripping 
principles  of  their  accretions,  what  could  be  more  inevitable 
than  his  warming  to  the  one  great  man  at  Washington 
who  like  him  held  that  such  a point  of  view  was  the  only 
rational  one.  Seward’s  ironic  peacefulness  in  the  midst  of 
the  storm  gained  in  luster  because  all  about  him  raged  a 
tempest  of  ferocity,  mitigated,  at  least  so  far  as  the  dis- 
tracted President  could  see,  only  by  self-interest  or  pacifism. 

As  Lincoln  came  into  office,  he  could  see  and  hear  many 
signs  of  a rising  fierceness  of  sectional  hatred.  His  sec- 
retary records  with  disgust  a proposal  to  conquer  the  Gulf 
States,  expel  their  white  population,  and  reduce  the  region 
to  a gigantic  state  preserve,  where  negroes  should  grow  cot- 
ton under  national  supervision.^  “We  of  the  North,”  said 
Senator  Baker  of  Oregon,  “are  a majority  of  the  Union, 
and  we  v/ill  govern  our  Union  in  our  own  way.”^  At  the 
other  extreme  v/as  the  hysterical  pacifism  of  the  Abolition- 
ists. Part  of  Lincoln’s  abiding  quarrel  with  the  Abolitionists 
was  their  lack  of  national  feeling.  Their  peculiar  form  of 
introspection  had  injected  into  politics  the  idea  of  personal 
sin.  Their  personal  responsibility  for  slavery — they  being 
part  of  a country  that  tolerated  it — was  their  basal  inspira- 
tion. Consequently,  the  most  distinctive  Abolitionists  wel- 
comed this  opportunity  to  cast  off  their  responsibility.  If 
war  had  been  proposed  as  a crusade  to  abolish  slavery,  their 
attitude  might  have  been  different.  But  in  March,  i86(b, 
no  one  but  the  few  ultra-extremists,  whom  scarcely  anybody 
heeded,  dreamed  of  such  a war.  A war  to  restore  the 
Union  was  the  only  sort  that  was  considered  seriously.  Such 
a war,  the  Abolitionists  bitterly  condemned.  They  seized 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


143 


upon  pacifism  as  their  defense.  Said  Whittier  of  the  Seced- 
ing States : 

They  break  the  links  of  Union : shall  we  light 
The  fires  of  hell  to  weld  anew  the  chain, 

On  that  red  anvil  where  each  blow  is  pain  ? 

The  fury  and  the  fear  offended  Lincoln  in  equal  meas- 
ure. After  long  years  opposing  the  political  temper  of  the 
extremists,  he  was  not  the  man  now  to  change  front.  To 
one  who  believed  himself  marked  out  for  a tragic  end,  the 
cowardice  at  the  heart  of  the  pacifism  of  his  time  was 
revolting.  It  was  fortunate  for  his  own  peace  of  mind 
that  he  could  here  count  on  the  Secretary  of  State.  No 
argument  based  on  fear  of  pain  would  meet  in  Seward 
with  anything  but  derision.  ‘*They  tell  us,”  he  had  once 
said,  and  the  words  expressed  his  constant  attitude,  “that^ 
we  are  to  encounter  opposition.  Why,  bless  my  soul,  did 
anybody  ever  expect  to  reach  a fortune,  or  fame,  or  happi- 
ness on  earth  or  a crown  in  heaven,  without  encountering  re- 
sistance and  opposition?  What  are  we  made  men  for 
but  to  encounter  and  overcome  opposition  arrayed  against 
us  in  the  line  of  our  duty?”^ 

But  if  the  ferocity  and  the  cowardice  were  offensive  and 
disheartening,  there  was  something  else  that  was  beneath 
contempt.  Never  was  self-interest  more  shockingly  dis- 
played. It  was  revealed  in  many  ways,  but  impinged  upbn 
the  new  President  in  only  one.  A horde  of  office-seekers 
besieged  him  in  the  White  House.  The  parallel  to  this  amaz- 
ing picture  can  hardly  be  found  in  history.  It  was  taken 
for  granted  that  the  new  party  would  make  a clean  sweep 
of  the  whole  civil  list,  that  every  government  employee 
down  to  the  humblest  messenger  boy  too  young  to  have 


144 


LINCOLN 


political  ideas  was  to  bear  the  label  of  the  victorious  party. 
Every  Congressman  who  had  made  promises  to  his  con- 
stituents, every  politician  of  every  grade  who  thought  he 
had  the  party  in  his  debt,  every  adventurer  who  on  any 
pretext  could  make  a showing  of  party  service  rendered, 
poured  into  Washington.  It  was  a motley  horde. 

‘'Hark,  hark,  the  dogs  do  bark. 

The  beggars  are  coming  to  town.” 

They  converted  the  White  House  into  a leaguer.  They 
swarmed  into  the  corridors  and  even  the  private  passages. 
So  dense  was  the  swarm  that  it  was  difficult  to  make  one’s 
way  either  in  or  out.  Lincoln  described  himself  by  the 
image  of  a man  renting  rooms  at  one  end  of  his  house  while 
the  other  end  was  on  fire.^  And  all  this  while  the  existence 
of  the  Republic  was  at  stake ! It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  it 
was  safe  to  defy  the  horde,  to  send  it  about  its  business. 
Here  again,  the  figure  of  Seward  stood  out  in  brilliant  light 
against  the  somber  background.  One  of  Seward’s  faculties 
was  his  power  to  form  devoted  lieutenants.  He  had  that 
sure  and  nimble  judgment  which  enables  some  men  to  in- 
spire their  lieutenants  rather  than  categorically  to  instruct 
them.  All  the  sordid  side  of  his  political  games  he  managed 
in  this  way.  He  did  not  appear  himself  as  the  bargainer. 
In  the  shameful  eagerness  of  most  of  the  politicians  to  find 
offices  for  their  retainers,  Seward  was  conspicuous  by  con- 
trast. Even  the  Cabinet  was  not  free  from  this  vice  of 
catering  to  the  thirsty  horde.^  Alone,  at  this  juncture, 
Seward  detached  himself  from  the  petty  affairs  of  the  hour 
and  gave  his  whole  attention  to  statecraft. 

He  had  a definite  policy.  Another  point  of  contact  with 
JLincoln  was  the  attitude  of  both  toward  the  Union,  supple- 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


145 


mented  as  it  was  by  their  views  of  the  place  of  slavery  in  the 
problem  they  confronted.  Both  were  nationalists  ready  to 
make  any  sacrifices  for  the  national  idea.  Both  regarded 
slavery  as  an  issue  of  second  importance.  Both  were  pre- 
pared for  great  concessions  if  convinced  that,  ultimately, 
their  concessions  would  strengthen  the  trend  of  American 
life  toward  a general  exaltation  of  nationality. 

On  the  other  hand,  their  differences — 

Seward  approached  the  problem  in  the  same  temper, 
with  the  same  assumptions,  that  were  his  in  the  previous 
December.  He  still  believed  that  his  main  purpose  was  to 
enable  a group  of  politicians  to  save  their  faces  by  effecting 
a strategic  retreat.  Imputing  to  the  Southern  leaders  an 
attitude  of  pure  self-interest,  he  believed  that  if  allowed  to 
play  the  game  as  they  desired,  they  would  mark  time  until 
circumstances  revealed  to  them  whether  there  was  more 
profit  for  them  in  the  Union  or  out;  he  also  believed  that 
if  sufficient  time  could  be  given,  and  if  no  armed  clash  took 
place,  it  would  be  demonstrated  first,  that  they  did  not  have 
so  strong  a hold  on  the  South  as  they  had  thought  they 
had ; and  second,  that  on  the  whole,  it  was  to  their  interests 
to  patch  up  the  quarrel  and  come  back  into  the  Union. 
But  he  also  saw  that  they  had  a serious  problem  of  leader- 
ship, which,  if  rudely  handled,  might  make  it  impossible 
for  them  to  stand  still.  They  had  inflamed  the  sentiment 
of  state-patriotism.  In  South  Carolina,  particularly,  the 
popular  demand  was  for  independence.  With  this  went 
the  demand  that  Fort  Sumter  in  Charleston  Harbor,  garri- 
soned by  Federal  troops,  should  be  surrendered,  or  if  not 
surrendered,  taken  forcibly  from  the  United  States.  A few 
cannon  shots  at  Sumter  would  mean  war. 

An  article  in  Seward’s  creed  of  statecraft  asserted  that 


146 


LINCOLN 


the  populace  will  always  go  wild  over  a war.  '/To  prevent 
a war  fever  in  the  North  was  the  first  condition  of  his 
policy  at  home.  Therefore,  in  order  to  prevent  it,  the  first 
step  in  saving  his  enemies’  faces  was  to  safeguard  them 
against  the  same  danger  in  their  own  camp.  He  must  help 
them  to  prevent  a war  fever  in  the  South.  He  saw  but 
one  way  to  do  this.  The  conclusion  which  became  the  bed 
rock  of  his  policy  was  inevitable.  Sumter  must  be 
evacuated. 

Even  before  the  inauguration,  he  had  broached  this  idea 
to  Lincoln.  He  had  tried  to  keep  Lincoln  from  inserting 
in  the  inaugural  the  words,  “The  power  confided  to  me  will 
be  used  to  hold,  occupy  and  possess  the  property  and  places 
belonging  to  the  government.”  He  had  proposed  instead, 
“The  power  confided  in  me  shall  be  used  indeed  with  efficacy, 
but  also  with  discretion,  in  every  case  and  exigency,  accord- 
ing to  the  circumstances  actually  existing,  and  with  a view 
and  a hope  of  a peaceful  solution  of  the  national  troubles, 
and  the  restoration  of  fraternal  sympathies  and  affec- 
tions.”® With  the  rejection  of  Seward’s  proffered  revision, 
a difference  between  them  in  policy  began  to  develop.  Lin- 
coln, says  one  of  his  secretaries,  accepted  Seward’s  main 
purpose  but  did  not  share  his  “optimism.”^  It  would  be 
truer  to  say  that  in  this  stage  of  his  development,  he  was 
lacking  in  audacity.  In  his  eager  search  for  advice,  he  had 
to  strike  a balance  between  the  daring  Seward  who  at  this 
moment  built  entirely  on  his  own  power  of  political  devina- 
tion,  and  the  cautious  remainder  of  the  Cabinet  who  had 
their  ears  to  the  ground  trying  their  best  to  catch  the  note 
of  authority  in  the  rumblings  of  vox  populi.  For  his  own 
part,  Lincoln  began  with  two  resolves : to  go  very  cautiously, 
and  not  give  something  for  nothing.  Far  from  him,  as 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


147 


yet,  was  that  plunging  mood  which  in  Seward  pushed 
audacity  to  the  verge  of  a gamble. 

However,  just  previous  to  the  inauguration,  he  took  a 
cautious  step  in  Seward’s  direction.  Virginia,  like  all  the 
other  States  of  the  upper  South,  was  tom  by  the  question 
which  side  to  take.  There  was  a ‘‘Union”  party  in  Vir- 
ginia, and  a “Secession”  party.  A committee  of  leading 
Unionists  conferred  with  Lincoln.  They  saw  the  imme- 
diate problem  very  much  as  Seward  did.  They  believed 
that  if  timie  were  allowed,  the  crisis  could  be  tided  over  and 
the  Union  restored ; but  the  first  breath  of  war  would  wreck 
their  hopes.  The  condition  of  bringing  about  an  adjust- 
ment was  the  evacuation  of  Sumter.  Lincoln  told  them 
that  if  Virginia  could  be  kept  in  the  Union  by  the  evacua- 
tion of  Sumter,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  recall  the  garri- 
son.® A few  days  later,  despite  what  he  had  said  in  the 
inaugural,  he  repeated  this  offer.  A convention  was  then 
sitting  at  Richmond  in  debate  upon  the  relations  of  Virginia 
to  the  Union.  If  it  would  drop  the  matter  and  dissolve — ■ 
so  Lincoln  told  another  committee — he  would  evacuate 
Sumter  and  trust  the  recovery  of  the  lower  South  to 
negotiation.^  No  results,  so  far  as  is  knovv^n,  came  of 
either  of  those  offers. 

During  the  first  half  of  March,  the  Washington  gov- 
ernment marked  time.  The  office-seekers  continued  to  be- 
siege the  President.  South  Carolina  continued  to  clamor 
for  possession  of  Sumter.  The  Confederacy  sent  commis- 
sioners to  Washington  whom  Lincoln  refused  to  recognize. 
The  Virginia  Convention  swayed  this  way  and  that. 

Seward  went  serenely  about  his  business,  confident  that 
everything  was  certain  to  come  his  way  soon  or  late.  He 
went  so  far  as  to  advise  an  intermediary  to  tell  the  Con- 


148 


LINCOLN 


federate  Commissioners  that  all  they  had  to  do  to  get  pos- 
session of  Sumter  was  to  wait.  The  rest  of  the  Cabinet 
pressed  their  ears  more  tightly  than  ever  to  the  ground. 
The  rumblings  of  vox  populi  were  hard  to  interpret.  The 
North  appeared  to  be  in  two  minds.  This  was  revealed 
the  day  following  the  inauguration,  when  a Republican  Club 
in  New  York  held  a high  debate  upon  the  condition  of  the 
country.  One  faction  wanted  Lincoln  to  declare  for  a war 
policy;  another  wished  the  Club  to  content  itself  with  a 
vote  of  confidence  in  the  Administration.  Each  faction  put 
its  views  into  a resolution  and  as  a happy  device  for  main- 
taining harmony,  both  resolutions  were  passed.^^  The  frag- 
mentary, miscellaneous  evidence  of  newspapers,  political 
meetings,  the  talk  of  leaders,  local  elections,  formed  a con- 
fused clamor  which  each  listener  interpreted  according  to 
his  predisposition.  The  members  of  the  Cabinet  in  their 
relative  isolation  at  Washington  found  it  exceedingly  diffi- 
cult to  make  up  their  minds  what  the  people  were  really 
saying.  Of  but  one  thing  they  were  certain,  and  that  was 
that  they  represented  a minority  party.  Before  committing 
themselves  any  way,  it  was  life  and  death  to  know  what 
portion  of  the  North  would  stand  by  them.^^ 

At  this  point  began  a perplexity  that  was  to  torment  the 
President  almost  to  the  verge  of  distraction.  How  far  could 
he  trust  his  military  advisers?  Old  General  Scott  was  at 
the  head  of  the  army.  He  had  once  been  a striking,  if  not 
a great  figure.  Should  his  military  advice  be  accepted  as 
final?  Scott  informed  Lincoln  that  Sumter  was  short  of 
food  and  that  any  attempt  to  relieve  it  would  call  for  a 
much  larger  force  than  the  government  could  muster. 
Scott  urged  him  to  withdraw  the  garrison.  Lincoln  sub- 
mitted the  matter  to  the  Cabinet.  He  asked  for  their 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


149 


opinions  in  writing. Five  advised  taking  Scott  at  his 
word  and  giving  up  all  thought  of  relieving  Sumter.  There 
were  two  dissenters.  The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  Sal- 
mon Portland  Chase,  struck  the  key-note  of  his  later  polit- 
ical career  by  an  elaborate  argument  on  expediency.  If  re- 
lieving Sumter  would  lead  to  civil  war,  Chase  was  not  in 
favor  of  relief ; but  on  the  whole  he  did  not  think  that  civil 
war  would  result,  and  therefore,  on  the  whole,  he  favored  a 
relief  expedition.  One  member  of  the  Cabinet,  Montgom- 
ery Blair,  the  Postmaster  General,  an  impetuous,  fierce  man, 
was  vehement  for  relief  at  all  costs.  Lincoln  wanted  to 
agree  with  Chase  and  Blair.  He  reasoned  that  if  the  fort 
was  given  up  “the  necessity  under  which  it  was  done  would 
not  be  fully  understood;  that  by  many  it  would  be  construed 
as  part  of  a voluntary  policy,  that  at  home  it  would  dis- 
courage the  friends  of  the  Union,  embolden  its  adver- 
saries, and  go  far  to  insure  to  the  latter  a recognition 
abroad.  . . 

Nevertheless,  with  the  Cabinet  five  to  two  against  him, 
with  his  military  adviser  against  him,  Lincoln  put  aside 
his  own  views.  The  government  went  on  marking  time 
and  considering  the  credentials  of  applicants  for  country 
post-offices. 

By  this  time,  Lincoln  had  thrown  off  the  overpowering 
gloom  which  possessed  him  in  the  latter  days  at  Springfield. 
It  is  possible  he  had  reacted  to  a mood  in  which  there  was 
something  of  levity.  His  oscillation  of  mood  from  a gloom 
that  nothing  penetrated  to  a sort  of  desperate  mirth,  has 
been  noted  by  various  observers.  And  in  1861  he  had  not 
reached  his  final  poise,  that  firm  holding  of  the  middle  way, 
which  afterward  fused  his  moods  and  made  of  him,  at 
least  in  action,  a sustained  personality. 


LINCOLN 


150 

About  the  middle  of  the  month  he  had  a famous  inter- 
view with  Colonel  W.  T.  Sherman  who  had  been  President 
of  the  University  of  Louisiana  and  had  recently  resigned. 
Senator  John  Sherman  called  at  the  White  House  with  re- 
gard to  ‘‘some  minor  appointments  in  Ohio.”  The  Colonel 
went  with  him.  When  Colonel  Sherman  spoke  of  the 
seriousness  of  the  Secession  movement,  Lincoln  replied, 
*‘Oh,  we’ll  manage  to  keep  house.”  The  Colonel  was  so 
offended  by  what  seemed  to  him  the  flippancy  of  the  Presi- 
dent that  he  abandoned  his  intention  to  resume  the  military 
life  and  withdrew  from  Washington  in  disgust.^^ 

Not  yet  had  Lincoln  attained  a true  appreciation  of  the 
real  difficulty  before  him.  He  had  not  got  rid  of  the  idea 
that  a dispute  over  slavery  had  widened  accidentally  into  a 
needless  sectional  quarrel,  and  that  as  soon  as  the  South 
had  time  to  think  things  over,  it  would  see  that  it  did  not 
really  want  the  quarrel.  He  had  a queer  idea  that  mean- 
while he  could  hold  a few  points  on  the  margin  of  the 
Seceded  States,  open  custom  houses  on  ships  at  the  mouths 
of  harbors,  but  leave  vacant  all  Federal  appointments  within 
the  Seceded  States  and  ignore  the  absence  of  their  represen- 
tatives from  Washington.^^  This  marginal  policy  did  not 
seem  to  him  a policy  of  coercion;  and  though  he  was  be- 
ginning to  see  that  the  situation  from  the  Southern  point 
of  view  turned  on  the  right  of  a State  to  resist  coercion,  he 
was  yet  to  learn  that  idealistic  elements  of  emotion  and  of 
political  dogma  were  the  larger  part  of  his  difficulty. 

Meanwhile,  the  upper  South  had  been  proclaiming  its 
idealism.  Its  attitude  was  creating  a problem  for  the  lower 
South  as  well  as  for  the  North.  The  pro-slavery  leaders 
had  been  startled  out  of  a dream.  The  belief  in  a Southern 
economic  solidarity  so  complete  that  the  secession  of  any 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


151 

one  Slave  State  would  compel  the  secession  of  all  the  others, 
that  belief  had  been  proved  fallacious.  It  had  been  made 
plain  that  on  the  economic  issue,  even  as  on  the  issue  of 
sectional  distrust,  the  upper  South  would  not  follow  the 
lower  South  into  secession.  When  delegates  from  the 
Georgia  Secessionists  visited  the  legislature  of  North  Caro- 
lina, every  courtesy  was  shown  to  them;  the  Speaker  of  the 
House  assured  them  of  North  Carolina's  sympathy  and  of 
her  enduring  friendliness  ; but  he  was  careful  not  to  suggest 
an  intention  to  secede,  unless  (the  condition  that  was  des- 
tiny!) an  attempt  should  be  made  to  violate  the  sovereignty 
of  the  State  by  marching  troops  across  her  soil  to  attack  the 
Confederates.  Then,  on  the  one  issue  of  State  sovereignty, 
North  Carolina  would  leave  the  Union.^®  The  Unionists  in 
Virginia  took  similar  ground.  They  wished  to  stay  in  the 
Union,  and  they  were  determined  not  to  go  out  on  the  issue 
of  slavery.  Therefore  they  laid  their  heads  together  to 
get  that  issue  out  of  the  way.  Their  problem  was  to  devise 
a compromise  that  would  do  three  things : lay  the  Southern 
dread  of  an  inundation  of  sectional  Northern  induence; 
silence  the  slave  profiteers;  meet  the  objections  that  had 
induced  Lincoln  to  wreck  the  Crittenden  Compromise. 
They  felt  that  the  first  and  second  objectives  would  be 
reached  easity  enough  by  reviving  the  line  of  the  Missouri 
Compromise.  But  something  more  was  needed,  or  again, 
Lincoln  would  refuse  to  negotiate.  They  met  their  crucial 
difficulty  by  boldly  appealing  to  the  South  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  conservation  of  its  present  life  and  renounce  the 
dream  of  unlimited  Southern  expansion.  Their  Compro- 
mise proposed  a death  blow  to  the  filibuster  and  all  he  stood 
for.  It  provided  that  no  new  territory  other  than  naval 
stations  should  be  acquired  by  the  United  States  on  either 


152 


LINCOLN 


side  the  Missouri  Line  without  consent  of  a majority  of 
the  Senators  from  the  States  on  the  opposite  side  of  that 
line.i® 

As  a solution  of  the  sectional  quarrel,  to  the  extent  that 
it  had  been  definitely  put  into  words,  what  could  have  been 
more  astute?  Lincoln  himself  had  said  in  the  inaugural, 
‘‘One  section  of  our  country  believes  slavery  is  right  and 
ought  to  be  extended ; while  the  other  believes  it  is  wrong 
and  ought  not  to  be  extended.  That  is  the  only  substantial 
dispute.”  In  the  same  inaugural,  he  had  pledged^biDiself 
not  to  “interfere  with  the  institution  of  slavery  in  the  Sl^t^s 
where  it  now  exists;”  and  also  had  urged  a vigorous  en- 
forcement of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.  He  never  had  ap- 
proved of  any  sort  of  emancipation  other  than  purchase  or 
the  gradual  operation  of  economic  conditions.  It  was  well 
known  that  slavery  could  flourish  only  on  fresh  land  amid 
prodigal  agricultural  methods  suited  to  the  most  ignorant 
labor.  The  Virginia  Compromise,  by  giving  to  slavery  a 
fixed  area  and  abolishing  its  hopes  of  continual  extensions 
into  fresh  land,  was  the  virtual  fulfillment  of  Lincoln’s 
demand. 

The  failure  of  the  Virginia  Compromise  is  one  more 
proof  that  a great  deal  of  vital  history  never  gets  into  words 
until  after  it  is  over.  During  the  second  half  of  March, 
Unionists  and  Secessionists  in  the  Virginia  Convention  de- 
bated with  deep  emotion  this  searching  new  proposal.  The 
Unionists  had  a fatal  weakness  in  their  position.  This  was 
the  feature  of  the  situation  that  had  not  hitherto  been  put 
into  words.  Lincoln  had  not  been  accurate  when  he  said 
that  the  slavery  question  was  “the  only  substantial  dispute.” 
He  had  taken  for  granted  that  the  Southern  opposition  to 
nationalism  was  not  a real  thing, — ^mere  device  of  thejxDli- 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


153 


ticians  to  work  up  excitement.  All  the  compromises  he 
was  ready  to  offer  were  addressed  to  that  part  of  the  South 
which  was  seeking  to  make  an  issue  on  slavery.  They  had 
little  meaning  for  that  other  and  more  numerous  part  in 
whose  thinking  slavery  was  an  incident.  For  this  other 
South,  the  ideas  which  Lincoln  as  late  as  the  middle  of 
March  did  not  bring  into  play  were  the  whole  story.  Lin- 
coln, willing  to  give  all  sorts  of  guarantees  for  the  non- 
interference with  slavery,  would  not  give  a single  guarantee 
supporting  the  idea  of  State  sovereignty  against  the  idea 
of  the  sovereign  power  of  the  national  Union.  The  Vir- 
ginians, willing  to  go  great  lengths  in  making  concessions 
with  regard  to  slavery,  would  not  go  one  inch  in  the  way 
of  admitting  that  their  State  was  not  a sovereign  power 
included  in  the  American  Union  of  its  own  free  will,  and 
not  the  legitimate  subject  of  any  sort  of  coercion. 

The  Virginia  Compromise  was  really  a profound  new 
complication.  The  very  care  with  which  it  divided  the  issue 
of  nationality  from  the  issue  of  slavery  was  a storm  signal. 
For  a thoroughgoing  nationalist  like  Lincoln,  deep  perplexi- 
ties lay  hidden  in  this  full  disclosure  of  the  issue  that  was 
vital  to  the  moderate  South.  Lincoln’s  shifting  of  his  mental 
ground,  his  perception  that  hitherto  he  had  been,  oblivious  of 
his  most  formidable  opponent,  the  one  with  whom  compro- 
mise was  impossible,  occurred  in  the  second  half  of  the 
month. 

As  always,  Lincoln  kept  his  own  counsel  upon  the 
maturing  of  a purpose  in  his  own  mind.  He  listened  to 
every  adviser — opening  his  office  doors  without  reserve  to 
all  sorts  and  conditions — and  silently,  anxiously,  struggled 
with  himself  for  a decision.  He  watched  Virginia;  he 
watched  the  North;  he  listened — ^and  waited.  General 


154 


LINCOLN 


Scott  continued  hopeless,  though  minor  military  men  gave 
encouragement.  And  whom  should  the  President  trust — 
the  tired  old  General  who  disagreed  with  him,  or  the  eager 
young  men  who  held  views  he  would  like  to  hold?  Many 
a time  he  was  to  ask  himself  that  question  during  the  years 
to  comie. 

On  March  twenty-ninth,  he  again  consulted  the  Cabi- 
net. A great  deal  of  water  had  run  under  the  mill  since 
they  gave  their  opinions  on  March  sixteenth.  The  voice 
of  the  people  was  still  a bewildering  roar,  but  out  of  that 
roar  most  of  the  Cabinet  seemed  to  hear  definite  words. 
They  were  convinced  that  the  North  was  veering  toward 
a warlike  mood.  The  phrase  “masterly  inactivity,”  which 
had  been  applied  to  the  government’s  course  admiringly  a 
few  weeks  before,  was  now  being  applied  satirically.  Re- 
publican extremists  were  demanding  action.  A subtle 
barometer  was  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  Now,  as  on 
the  sixteenth,  he  craftily  said  something  without  saying  it. 
After  juggling  the  word  “if,”  he  assumed  his  “if”  to  be  a 
fact  and  concluded,  “If  war  is  to  be  the  result,  I perceive 
no  reason  why  it  may  not  best  be  begun  in  consequence  of 
military  resistance  to  the  efforts  of  the  Administration  to 
sustain  troops  of  the  Union,  stationed  under  authority  of 
the  government  in  a fort  of  the  Union,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  service.” 

This  elaborate  equivocation,  which  had  all  the  force  of 
an  assertion,  was  Chase  all  over!  Three  other  ministers 
agreed  with  him  except  that  they  did  not  equivocate.  One 
evaded.  Of  all  those  who  had  stood  with  Seward  on  the 
sixteenth,  only  one  was  still  in  favor  of  evacuation.  Seward 
stood  fast.  This  reversal  of  the  Cabinet’s  position,  jump- 
ing as  it  did  with  Lincoln’s  desires,  encouraged  him  to  pre^ 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


155 


pare  for  action.  But  just  as  he  was  about  to  act  his  diffi- 
dence asserted  itself.  He  authorized  the  preparation  of  a 
relief  expedition  but  withheld  sailing  orders  until  further 
notice.^^  Oh,  for  Seward’s  audacity;  for  the  ability  to  do 
one  thing  or  another  and  take  the  consequences ! 

Seward  had  not  foreseen  this  turn  of  events.  He  had 
little  respect  for  the  rest  of  the  Cabinet,  and  had  still  to 
discover  that  the  President,  for  all  his  semblance  of  vacil- 
lation, was  a great  man.  Seward  was  undeniably  vain. 
That  the  President  with  such  a Secretary  of  State  should 
judge  the  strength  of  a Cabinet  vote  by  counting  noses — 
preposterous ! But  that  was  just  what  this  curiously  simple- 
minded  President  had  done.  If  he  went  on  in  his  weak, 
amiable  way  listening  to  the  time-servers  who  were  listen- 
ing to  the  bigots,  what  would  become  of  the  country?  And 
of  the  Secretary  of  State  and  his  deep  policies?  The 
President  must  be  pulled  up  short — brought  to  his  senses — 
taught  a lesson  or  two. 

Seward  saw  that  new  difficulties  had  arisen  in  the  course 
of  that  fateful  March  which  those  colleagues  of  his  in  the 
Cabinet — well-meaning,  inferior  men,  to  be  sure — had  not 
the  subtlety  to  comprehend.  Of  course  the  matter  of  evac- 
uation remained  what  it  always  had  been,  the  plain  open 
road  to  an  ultimate  diplomatic  triumph.  Who  but  a presi- 
dent out  of  the  West,  or  a minor  member  of  the  Cabinet, 
would  fail  to  see  that ! But  there  were  two  other  considera- 
tions which,  also,  his  well-meaning  colleagues  were  failing 
to  allow  for.  While  all  this  talk  about  the  Virginia  Union- 
ists had  been  going  on,  while  Washington  and  Richmond 
had  been  trying  to  negotiate,  neither  really  had  any  control 
of  its  own  game.  They  were  card  players  with  all  the 
trumps  out  of  their  hands.  Montgomery,  the  Confederate 


156 


LINCOLN 


Congress,  held  the  trumps.  At  any  minute  it  could  termi- 
nate all  this  make-believe  of  diplomatic  independence,  both 
at  Washington  and  at  Richmond.  A few  cannon  shots 
aimed  at  Sumter,  the  cry  for  revenge  in  the  North,  the 
inevitable  protest  against  coercion  in  Virginia,  the  conven- 
tion blown  into  the  air,  and  there  you  are — War! 

And  after  all  that,  who  knows  what  next?  And  yet, 
Blair  and  Chase  and  the  rest  would  not  consent  to  slip  Mont- 
gomery^’s  trumps  out  of  her  hands — the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  do! — by  throwing  Sumter  into  her  lap  and  thus 
destroying  the  pretext  for  the  cannon  shots.  More  than 
ever  before,  Seward  would  insist  firmly  on  the  evacuation 
of  Sumter. 

But  there  was  the  other  consideration,  the  really  new 
turn  of  events.  Suppose  Sumter  is  evacuated;  suppose 
Montgomery  has  lost  her  chance  to  force  Virginia  into  war 
by  precipitating  the  issue  of  coercion,  what  follows?  All 
« along  Seward  had  advocated  a national  convention  to  read- 
just all  the  matters  “in  dispute  between  the  sections.”  But 
what  would  such  a convention  discuss?  In  his  inaugural, 
Lincoln  had  advised  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution  “to 
the  effect  that  the  Federal  government  shall  never  interfere 
with  the  domestic  institutions  of  the  State,  including  that  of 
persons  held  to  service.”  Very  good!  The  convention 
might  be  expected  to  accept  this,  and  after  this,  of  course, 
there  would  come  up  the  Virginia  Compromise.  Was  it  a 
practical  scheme?  Did  it  form  a basis  for  drawing  back 
into  the  Union  the  lower  South? 

Seward’s  whole  thought  upon  this  subject  has  never  been 
disclosed.  It  must  be  inferred  from  the  conclusion  which 
he  reached,  which  he  put  into  a paper  entitled.  Thoughts 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER. 


157 


for  the  President’s  Consideration,  and  submitted  to  Lincoln, 
April  first. 

The  Thoughts  outlined  a scheme  of  policy,  the  most 
startling  feature  of  which  was  an  instant,  predatory,  foreign 
war.  There  are  two  clues  to  this  astounding  proposal. 
One  was  a political  maxim  in  which  Seward  had  unwavering 
faith.  ‘‘A  fundamental  principle  of  politics,’'  he  said,  ''is 
always  to  be  on  the  side  of  your  country  in  a war.  It  kills 
any  party  to  oppose  a war.  When  Mr.  Buchanan  got  up  his 
Mormon  War,  our  people,  Wade  and  Fremont,  and  The 
Tribune,  led  off  furiously  against  it.  I supported  it  to  the 
immense  disgust  of  enemies  and  friends.  If  you  want  to 
sicken  your  opponents  with  their  own  war,  go  in  for  it  till 
they  give  it  up.”^®  He  was  not  alone  among  the  politicians 
of  his  time,  and  some  other  times,  in  these  cynical  views. 
Lincoln  has  a story  of  a politician  who  was  asked  to  oppose 
the  Mexican  War,  and  who  replied,  "I  opposed  one  war; 
that  was  enough  for  me.  I am  now  perpetually  in  favor 
of  war,  pestilence  and  famine.” 

The  second  clue  to  Seward’s  new  policy  of  international 
brigandage  was  the  need,  as  he  conceived  it,  to  propitiate 
those  Southern  expansionists  who  in  the  lower  South  at 
least  formed  so  large  a part  of  the  political  machine,  who 
must  somehow  be  lured  back  into  the  Union ; to  whom  the 
Virginia  Compromise,  as  well  as  every  other  scheme  of 
readjustment  yet  suggested,  offered  no  allurement.  Like 
Lincoln  defeating  the  Crittenden  Compromise,  like  the  Vir- 
ginians planning  the  last  compromise,  Seward  remembered 
the  filibusters  and  the  dreams  of  the  expansionists,  annexa- 
tion of  Cuba,  annexation  of  Nicaragua  and  all  the  rest,  and 
he  looked  about  for  a way  to  reach  them  along  that  line. 


LINCOLN 


158 

Chance  had  played  into  his  hands.  Already  Napoleon  III 
had  begun  his  ill-fated  interference  with  the  affairs  of  Mex- 
ico. A rebellion  had  just  taken  place  in  San  Domingo  and 
Spain  was  supposed  to  have  designs  on  the  island.  Here,  for 
any  one  who  believed  in  predatory  war  as  an  infallible  last 
recourse  to  rouse  the  patriotism  of  a country,  were  pretexts 
enough.  Along  with  these  would  go  a raging  assertion  of 
the  Monroe  Doctrine  and  a bellicose  attitude  toward  other 
European  powers  on  less  substantial  grounds.  And  amid 
it  all,  between  the  lines  of  it  all,  could  not  any  one  glimpse 
a scheme  for  the  expansion  of  the  United  States  southward? 
War  with  Spain  over  San  Domingo ! And  who,  pray,  held 
the  Island  of  Cuba ! And  what  might  not  a defeated  Spain 
be  willing  to  do  with  Cuba?  And  if  France  were  driven 
out  of  Mexico  by  our  conquering  arms,  did  not  the  shadows 
of  the  future  veil  but  dimly  a grateful  Mexico  where 
American  capital  should  find  great  opportunities?  And 
would  not  Southern  capital  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  a 
large  share  in  all  that  was  to  come?  Surely,  granting 
* Seward’s  political  creed,  remembering  the  problem  he  wished 
to  solve,  there  is  nothing  to  be  wondered  at  in  his  proposal 
to  Lincoln:  “I  would  demand  explanations  from  Spain  and 
France,  categorically,  at  once.”  . . . And  if  satisfactory 
explanations  were  not  received  from  Spain  and  France, 
'‘would  convene  Congress  and  declare  war  against  them.” 

His  purpose,  he  said,  was  to  change  the  question  before 
the  public,  from  one  upon  slavery,  or  about  slavery,  for  a 
question  upon  Union  or  Disunion.  Sumter  was  to  be  evac- 
uated “as  a safe  means  for  changing  the  issue,”  but  at  the 
same  time,  preparations  were  to  be  made  for  a blockade  of 
the  Southern  coast. 

This  extraordinary  document  administered  mild  but  firm 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


159 


correction  to  the  President.  He  was  told  that  he  had  no 
policy,  although  under  the  circumstances,  this  was  ''not 
culpable’';  that  there  must  be  a single  head  to  the  govern- 
ment; that  the  President,  if  not  equal  to  the  task,  should 
devolve  it  upon  some  member  of  the  Cabinet.  The 
Thoughts  closed  with  these  words,  "I  neither  seek  to 
evade  nor  assume  responsibility.” 

Like  Seward’s  previous  move,  when  he  sent  Weed  to 
Springfield,  this  other  brought  Lincoln  to  a point  of  crisis. 
For  the  second  time  he  must  render  a decision  that  would 
turn  the  scale,  that  would  have  for  his  country  the  force 
of  destiny.  In  one  respect  he  did  not  hesitate.  The  most 
essential  part  of  the  Thoughts  was  the  predatory  spirit.  • 
This  clashed  with  Lincoln’s  character.  Serene  unscrupn- 
lousness  met  unwavering  integrity.  Here  was  one  of  those 
subjects  on  which  Lincoln  was  not  asking  advice.  As  to 
ways  and  m.eans,  he  was  pliable  to  a degree  in  the  hands  of 
richer  and  wider  experience ; as  to  principles,  he  was  a rock. 
Seward’s  v>^hole  scheme  of  aggrandizement,  his  magnificent 
piracy,  was  calmly  waved  aside  as  a thing  of  no  concern. 
The  most  striking  characteristic  of  Lincoln’s  reply  was 
its  dignity.  He  did  not,  indeed,  lay  bare  his  purposes.  He 
was  content  to  point  out  certain  inconsistencies  in  Seward’s 
argument;  to  protest  that  whatever  action  might  be  taken 
with  regard  to  the  single  fortress,  Sumter,  the  question  be- 
fore the  public  could  not  be  changed  by  that  one  event ; and 
to  say  that  while  he  expected  advice  from  all  his  Cabinet, 
he  was  none  the  less  President,  and  in  last  resort  he  would 
himself  direct  the  policy  of  the  government.^^ 

Only  a strong  man  could  have  put  up  with  the  patroniz- 
ing condescension  of  the  Thoughts  and  betrayed  no  irrita- 
tion. Not  a word  in  Lincoln’s  reply  gives  the  least  hint  that 


i6o 


LINCOLN 


condescension  had  been  displayed.  He  is  wholly  unruffled, 
distant,  objective.  There  is  also  a quiet  tone  of  finality, 
almost  the  tone  one  might  use  in  gently  but  firmly  correcting  i 
a child.  The  Olympian  impertinence  of  the  Thoughts 
had  struck  out  of  Lincoln  the  first  flash  of  that  approaching 
masterfulness  by  means  of  which  he  was  to  ride  out  success- 
fully such  furious  storms.  Seward  was  too  much  the  man 
of  the  world  not  to  see  what  had  happened.  He  never 
touched  upon  the  Thoughts  again.  Nor  did  Lincoln. 
The  incident  was  secret  until  Lincoln’s  secretaries  twenty- 
five  years  afterward  published  it  to  the  world. 

But  Lincoln’s  lofty  dignity  on  the  first  of  April  was  of 
a moment  only.  When  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  Gideon 
Welles,  that  same  day  called  on  him  in  his  offices,  he  was 
the  easy-going,  jovial  Lincoln  who  was  always  ready  half- 
humorously  to  take  reproof  from  subordinates — as  was 
evinced  by  his  greeting  to  the  Secretary.  Looking  up  from 
his  writing,  he  said  cheerfully,  *'What  have  I done 
wrong  Gideon  Welles  was  a pugnacious  man,  and  at 
that  moment  an  angry  man.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that 
his  lips  were  tightly  .shut,  that  a stern  frown  darkened  his 
brows.  Grimly  conscientious  was  Gideon  Welles,  likewise 
prosaic;  a masterpiece  of  literalness,  the  very  opposite  in 
almost  every  respect  of  the  Secretary  of  State  whom  he 
cordially  detested.  That  he  had  already  found  occasion  to 
protest  against  the  President’s  careless  mode  of  conducting 
business  may  be  guessed — correctly — from  the  way  he  was 
received.  Doubtless  the  very  cordiality,  the  whimsical  ad- 
mission of  loose  methods,  irritated  the  austere  Secretary. 
Welles  had  in  his  hand  a communication  dated  that  same 
day  and  signed  by  the  President,  making  radical  changes  in 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


i6i 


the  program  of  the  Navy  Department.  He  had  come  to 
protest. 

'‘The  President,”  said  Welles,  “expressed  as  much  sur- 
prise as  I felt,  that  he  had  sent  me  such  a document.  He 
said  that  Mr.  Seward  with  two  or  three  young  men  had  been 
there  during  the  day  on  a subject  which  he  (Seward)  had 
in  hand  and  which  he  had  been  some  time  maturing;  that 
it  was  Seward’s  specialty,  to  which  he,  the  President,  had 
yielded,  but  as  it  involved  considerable  details,  he  had  left 
Mr.  Seward  to  prepare  the  necessary  papers.  These  papers 
he  had  signed,  many  of  them  without  reading,  for  he  had 
not  time,  and  if  he  could  not  trust  the  Secretary  of  State, 
he  knew  not  whom  he  could  trust.  I asked  who  were 
associated  with  Mr.  Seward.  ‘No  one,’  said  the  President, 
‘but  these  young  men  who  were  here  as  clerks  to  write  down 
his  plans  and  orders.’  Most  of  the  work  was  done,  he  said, 
in  the  other  room.  . . . 

“The  President  reiterated  that  they  [the  changes  in  the 
Navy]  were  not  his  instructions,  though  signed  by  him; 
that  the  paper  was  an  improper  one ; that  he  wished  me  to 
give  it  no  more  consideration  than  I thought  proper;  to 
treat  it  as  cancelled,  or  as  if  it  had  never  been  written. 

. . . I could  get  no  satisfactory  explanation  from  the 

President  of  the  origin  of  this  strange  interference  which 
mystified  him  and  which  he  censured  and  condemned  more 
severely  than  myself.  . . . Although  very  much  dis- 

turbed by  the  disclosure,  he  was  anxious  to  avoid  difficulty, 
and  to  shield  Mr.  Seward,  took  to  himself  the  whole 
blame.  . . .” 

Thus  Lincoln  began  a role  that  he  never  afterward^ 
abandoned.  It  was  the  role  of  scapegoat.  Whatever  went 


LINCOLN 


162 

wrong  anywhere  could  always  be  loaded  upon  the  President. 
He  appeared  to  consider  it  a part  of  his  duty  to  be  the  scape- 
goat for  the  whole  Administration.  It  was  his  way  of  main- 
taining trust,  courage,  efficiency,  among  his  subordinates. 

Of  those  papers  which  he  had  signed  without  reading 
on  April  first,  Lincoln  was  to  hear  again  in  still  more  sur- 
prising fashion  six  days  thereafter. 

He  was  now  at  the  very  edge  of  his  second  crucial  de- 
cision. Though  the  naval  expedition  was  in  preparation, 
he  still  hesitated  over  issuing  orders  to  sail.  The  reply  to 
the  Thoughts  had  not  committed  him  to  any  specific  line 
of  conduct.  What  was  it  that  kept  him  wavering  at  this 
eleventh  hour?  Again,  that  impenetrable  taciturnity  which 
always  shrouded  his  progress  toward  a conclusion,  forbids 
dogmatic  assertion.  But  two  things  are  obvious:  his  posi- 
tion as  a minority  president,  of  which  he  was  perhaps 
unduly  conscious,  caused  him  to  delay,  and  to  delay  again 
and  again,  seeking  definite  evidence  how  much  support  he 
could  command  in  the  North;  the  change  in  his  compre- 
hension of  the  problem  before  himi — his  perception  that  it 
was  not  an  “artificial  crisis”  involving  slavery  alone,  but  an 
irreconcilable  clash  of  social-political  ideals — this  disturbed 
his  spirit,  distressed,  even  appalled  him.  Having  a truer 
insight  into  human  nature  than  Seward  had,  he  saw  that 
here  was  an  issue  immeasurably  less  susceptible  of  compro- 
mise than  was  slavery.  Whether,  the  moment  he  perceived 
this,  he  at  once  lost  hope  of  any  peaceable  solution,  we  do 
not  know.  Just  what  he  thought  about  the  Virginia  Com- 
promise is  still  to  seek.  However,  the  nature  of  his  mind, 
the  way  it  went  straight  to  the  human  element  in  a problem 
once  his  eyes  were  opened  to  the  problem’s  reality,  forbid 
us  to  conclude  that  he  took  hope  from  Virginia.  He  now 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


163 

saw  what,  had  it  not  been  for  his  near  horizon,  he  would 
have  seen  so  long  before,  that,  in  vulgar  parlance,  he  had 
been  ‘‘barking  up  the  wrong  tree.”  Now  that  he  had  lo- 
cated the  right  tree,  had  the  knowledge  come  too  late  ? 

It  is  known  that  Seward,  possibly  at  Lincoln’s  request, 
made  an  attempt  to  bring  together  the  Virginia  Unionists 
and  the  Administration.  He  sent  a special  representative 
to  Richmond  urging  the  despatch  of  a committee  to  confer 
with  the  President. 

The  strength  of  the  party  in  the  Convention  was  shown 
on  April  fourth  when  a proposed  Ordinance  of  Secession 
was  voted  down,  eighty-nine  to  forty-five.  On  the  same 
day,  the  Convention  by  a still  larger  majority  formally  de- 
nied the  right  of  the  Federal  government  to  coerce  a State. 
Two  days  later,  John  B.  Baldwin,  representing  the  Virginia 
Unionists,  had  a confidential  talk  with  Lincoln.  Only  frag- 
ments of  their  talk,  drawn  forth  out  of  memory  long 
afterward — some  of  the  reporting  being  at  second  hand,  the 
recollections  of  the  recollections  of  the  participants — are 
known  to  exist.  The  one  fact  clearly  discernible  is  that 
Baldwin  stated  fully  the  Virginia  position : that  her  Union- 
ists were  not  nationalists;  that  the  coercion  of  any  State, 
by  impugning  the  sovereignty  of  all,  would  automatically 
drive  Virginia  out  of  the  Union. 

Lincoln  had  now  reached  his  decision.  The  fear  that 
had  dogged  him  all  along — the  fear  that  in  evacuating 
Sumter  he  would  be  giving  something  for  nothing,  that  “it 
would  discourage  the  friends  of  the  Union,  embolden  its 
adversaries” — was  in  possession  of  his  will.  One  may 
hazard  the  guess  that  this  fear  would  have  determined  Lin- 
coln sooner  than  it  did,  except  for  the  fact  that  the  Secretary 
of  State,  despite  his  faults,  was  so  incomparably  the  strong- 


164 


LINCOLN 


est  personality  in  the  Cabinet.  We  have  Lincoln’s  own 
word  for  the  moment  and  the  detail  that  formed  the  very 
end  of  his  period  of  vacillation.  All  along  he  had  intended 
to  relieve  and  hold  Fort  Pickens,  off  the  coast  of  Florida. 
To  this,  Seward  saw  no  objection.  In  fact,  he  urged  the 
relief  of  Pickens,  hoping,  as  compensation,  to  get  his  way 
about  Sumter.  Assuming  as  he  did  that  the  Southern  leaders 
were  opportunists,  he  believed  that  they  would  not  make  an 
issue  over  Pickens,  merely  because  it  had  not  in  the  public 
eye  become  a political  symbol.  Orders  had  been  sent  to  a 
squadron  in  Southern  waters  to  relieve  Pickens.  Early  in 
April  news  was  received  at  Washington  that  the  attempt 
had  failed  due  to  misunderstandings  among  the  Federal 
commanders.  Fearful  that  Pickens  was  about  to  fall,  rea- 
soning that  whatever  happened  he  dared  not  lose  both  forts, 
Lincoln  became  peremptory  on  the  subject  of  the  Sumter 
expedition.  This  was  on  April  sixth.  On  the  night  of 
April  sixth,  Lincoln’s  signatures  to  the  unread  despatches 
of  the  first  of  April,  came  home  to  roost.  And  at  last, 
Welles  found  out  what  Seward  was  doing  on  the  day  of 
All  Fools.2^ 

While  the  Sumter  expedition  was  being  got  ready,  still 
without  sailing  orders,  a supplemental  expedition  was  also 
preparing  for  the  relief  of  Pickens.  This  was  the  business 
that  Seward  was  contriving,  that  Lincoln  would  not  explain, 
on  April  first.  The  order  interfering  with  the  Navy  De- 
partment was  designed  to  checkmate  the  titular  head  of  the 
department.  Furthermore,  Seward  had  had  the  amazing 
coolness  to  assume  that  Lincoln  would  certainly  accept  his 
Thoughts  and  that  the  simple  President  need  not  here- 
after be  consulted  about  details.  He  aimed  to  circumvent 
Welles  and  to  make  sure  that  the  Sumter  expedition. 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER  165 

whether  sailing  orders  were  issued  or  not,  should  be  ren- 
dered innocuous.  The  warship  Powhatan,  which  was  being 
got  ready  for  sea  at  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard,  was  intended 
by  Welles  for  the  Sumter  expedition.  One  of  those  unread 
despatches  signed  by  Lincoln,  assigned  it  to  the  Pickens 
expedition.  When  the  sailing  orders  from  Welles  were 
received,  the  commander  of  the  Sumter  fleet  claimed  the 
Powhatan.  The  Pickens  commander  refused  to  'give  it  up. 
The  latter  telegraphed  Seward  that  his  expedition  was  ''be- 
ing retarded  and  embarrassed”  by  "conflicting”  orders  from 
Welles.  The  result  was  a stormy  conference  between 
Seward  and  Welles  which  was  adjourned  to  the  White 
House  and  became  a conference  with  Lincoln.  And  then  the 
whole  story  came  out.  Lincoln  played  the  scapegoat,  "took 
the  whole  blame  upon  himself,  said  it  was  carelessness,  heed- 
lessness on  his  part;  he  ought  to  have  been  more  careful  and 
attentive.”  But  he  insisted  on  immediate  correction  of  his 
error,  on  the  restoration  of  the  Powhatan  to  the  Sumter 
fleet.  Seward  struggled  hard  for  his  plan.  Lincoln  was 
inflexible.  As  Seward  had  directed  the  preparation  of  the 
Pickens  expedition,  Lincoln  required  him  to  telegraph  to 
Brooklyn  the  change  in  orders.  Seward,  beaten  by  his 
enemy  Welles,  was  deeply  chagrined.  In  his  agitation  he 
forgot  to  be  formal,  forgot  that  the  previous  order  had 
gone  out  in  the  President’s  name,  and  wired  curtly,  "Give 
up  the  Powhatan.  Seward.” 

This  despatch  was  received  just  as  the  Pickens  expedi- 
tion was  sailing.  The  commander  of  the  Powhatan  had 
now  before  him,  three  orders.  Naturally,  he  held  that  the 
one  signed  by  the  President  took  precedence  over  the  others. 
He  went  on  his  way,  with  his  great  v/ar-ship,  to  Elorida. 
The  Sumter  expedition  sailed  without  any  powerful  ship 


LINCOLN 


1 66 

of  war.  In  this  strange  fashion,  chance  executed  Seward’s 
design. 

Lincoln  had  previously  informed  the  Governor  of  South 
Carolina  that  due  notice  would  be  given,  should  he  decide 
to  relieve  Sumter.  Word  was  now  sent  that  “an  attempt 
will  be  made  to  supply  Fort  Sumter  with  provisions  only; 
and  that  if  such  attempt  be  not  resisted,  no  effort  to  throw 
in  men,  arms  or  ammunition  will  be  made  without  further 
notice,  or  in  case  of  an  attack  upon  the  fort.”^^  Though 
the  fleet  was  not  intended  to  offer  battle,  it  was  supposed 
to  be  strong  enough  to  force  its  way  into  the  harbor,  should 
the  relief  of  Sumter  be  opposed.  But  the  power  to  do  so 
was  wholly  conditioned  on  the  presence  in  its  midst  of  the 
Powhatan.  And  the  Powhatan  was  far  out  to  sea  on  its 
way  to  Florida. 

And  now  it  was  the  turn  of  the  Confederate  govern- 
ment to  confront  a crisis.  It,  no  less  than  Washington,  had 
passed  through  a period  of  disillusion.  The  assumption 
upon  which  its  chief  politicians  had  built  so  confidently  had 
collapsed.  The  South  was  not  really  a unit.  It  was 
not  true  that  the  secession  of  any  one  State,  on  any  sort  of 
issue,  would  compel  automatically  the  secession  of  all  the 
Southern  States.  North  Carolina  had  exploded  this  illu- 
sion. Virginia  had  exploded  it.  The  South  could  not  be 
united  on  the  issue  of  slavery;  it  could  not  be  united  on  the 
issue  of  sectional  dread.  It  could  be  united  on  but  one 
issue — State  sovereignty,  the  denial  of  the  right  of  the  Fed- 
eral Government  to  coerce  a State.  The  time  had  come  to 
decide  whether  the  cannon  at  Charleston  should  fire.  As 
Seward  had  foreseen,  Montgomery  held  the  trumps;  but 
had  Montgomery  the  courage  to  play  them? 

There  was  a momentous  debate  in  the  Confederate' 


PRESIDENT  AND  PREMIER 


167 


Cabinet.  Robert  Toombs,  the  Secretary  of  State,  whose 
rapid  growth  in  comprehension  since  December  formed  a 
parallel  to  Lincoln’s  growth,  threw  his  influence  on  the  side 
of  further  delay.  He  would  not  invoke  that  *Tnal  argu- 
ment of  kings,”  the  shotted  cannon.  “Mr.  President,”  he 
exclaimed,  “at  this  time,  it  is  suicide,  murder,  and  will  lose 
us  every  friend  at  the  North.  You  will  instantly  strike  a 
hornet’s  nest  which  extends  from  mountain  to  ocean,  and 
legions  now  quiet  will  swarm  out  and  sting  us  to  death. 
It  is  unnecessary;  it  puts  us  in  the  wrong;  it  is  fatal.”  But 
Toombs  stood  alone  in  the  Cabinet.  Orders  were  sent  to 
Charleston  to  reduce  Fort  Sumter.  Before  dawn,  April 
twelfth,  the  first  shot  was  fired.  The  flag  of  the  United 
States  was  hauled  down  on  the  afternoon  of  the  thirteenth. 
Meanwhile  the  relieving  fleet  had  arrived — without  the 
Powhatan,  Bereft  of  its  great  ship,  it  could  not  pass  the 
harbor  batteries  and  assist  the  fort.  Its  only  service  was 
to  take  off  the  garrison  which  by  the  terms  of  surrender 
was  allowed  to  withdraw.  On  the  fourteenth,  Sumter  was 
evacuated  and  the  inglorious  fleet  sailed  back  to  the  north- 
ward. 

Lincoln  at  once  accepted  the  gage  of  battle.  On  the 
fifteenth  appeared  his  proclamation  calling  for  an  army  of 
seventy-five  thousand  volunteers.  Automatically,  the  upper 
South  fulfilled  its  unhappy  destiny.  Challenged  at  last,  on 
the  irreconcilable  issue,  Virginia,  North  Carolina,  Tennes- 
see, Arkansas,  seceded. 

The  final  argument  of  kings  was  the  only  one  remaining. 


XVI 


TO  RICHMOND  r 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  the  Americans  are  an  un- 
military but  an  intensely  warlike  nation.  Seward’s  belief 
that  a war  fury  would  sweep  the  country  at  the  first  can- 
non shot  was  amply  justified.  Both  North  and  South  ap- 
peared to  rise  as  one  man,  crying  fiercely  to  be  led  to 
battle. 

The  immediate  effect  on  Washington  had  not  been 
foreseen.  That  historic  clash  at  Baltimore  between  the 
city’s  mob  and  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  en  route  to  the 
capital,  was  followed  by  an  outburst  of  secession  feeling  in 
Maryland;  by  an  attempt  to  isolate  Washington  from  the 
North.  Railway  tracks  were  torn  up;  telegraph  wires  were 
cut.  During  several  days  Lincoln  was  entirely  ignorant  of 
what  the  North  was  doing.  Was  there  an  efficient  general 
response  to  his  call  for  troops?  Or  was  precious  time 
being  squandered  in  preparation?  Was  it  conceivable  that 
the  war  fury  was  only  talk?  Looking  forth  from  the 
White  House,  he  was  a prisoner  of  the  horizon;  an  im- 
penetrable mystery,  it  shut  the  capital  in  a ring  of  silence 
all  but  intolerable.  Washington  assumed  the  air  of  a be- 
leaguered city.  General  Scott  hastily  drew  in  the  small 
forces  which  the  government  had  maintained  in  Maryland 
and  Virginia.  Government  employees  and  loyal  Wash- 
ingtonians were  armed  and  began  to  drill.  The  White 
House  became  a barracks.  ‘7^^  Lane,”  writes  delightful 

1 68 


TO  RICHMOND!’’ 


169 


John  Hay  m his  diary,  which  is  always  cool,  rippling*, 
sunny,  no  matter  how  acute  the  crisis,  “Jim  Lane  mar- 
shalled his  Kansas  warriors  to-day  at  Williard’s  . . . 

to-night  (they  are  in)  the  East  Room.”^  Hay’s  humor 
brightens  the  tragic  hour.  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  report  to 
Lincoln  a “yarn”  that  had  been  told  to  him  by  some  charm- 
ing women  who  had  insisted  on  an  interview;  they  had 
heard  from  “a  dashing  Virginian”  that  inside  forty-eight 
hours  something  would  happen  which  would  ring  through 
the  world.  The  ladies  thought  this  meant  the  capture  or 
assassination  of  the  President.  “Lincoln  quietly  grinned.” 
But  Hay  who  plainly  enjoyed  the  episode,  charming  women 
and  all,  had  got  himself  into  trouble.  He  had  to  do  “some 
very  dexterous  lying  to  calm  the  awakened  fears  of  Mrs. 
Lincoln  in  regard  to  the  assassination  suspicion.”  Militia 
were  quartered  in  the  Capitol,  and  Pennsylvania  Avenue 
was  a drill  ground.  At  the  President’s  reception,  the  dis- 
tinguished politician  C.  C.  Clay,  “wore  with  a sublimely 
unconscious  air  three  pistols  and  an  Arkansas  toothpick, 
and  looked  like  an  admirable  vignette  to  twenty-five  cents’ 
worth  of  yellow  covered  romance.” 

But  Hay’s  levity  was  all  of  the  surface.  Beneath  it 
was  intense  anxiety.  General  Scott  reported  that  the  Vir- 
ginia militia,  concentrating  about  Washington,  were  a for- 
midable menace,  though  he  thought  he  was  strong  enough 
to  hold  out  until  relief  should  come.  As  the  days  passed 
and  nothing  appeared  upon  that  inscrutable  horizon  while 
the  telegraph  remained  silent,  Lincoln  became  moodily  dis- 
tressed. One  afternoon,  “the  business  of  the  day  being 
over,  the  executive  office  deserted,  after  walking  the  floor 
alone  in  silent  thought  for  nearly  a half-hour,  he  stopped 
and  gazed  long  and  wistfully  out  of  the  window  down  the 


170 


LINCOLN 


Potomac  in  the  direction  of  the  expected  ships  (bringing 
soldiers  from  New  York) ; and  unconscious  of  other  pres- 
ence in  the  room,  at  length  broke  out  with  irrepressible 
anguish  in  the  repeated  exclamation,  ‘Why  don’t  they 
come ! Why  don’t  they  come !’ 

His  unhappiness  flashed  into  words  while  he  was  visit- 
ing those  Massachusetts  soldiers  who  had  been  wounded 
on  their  way  to  Washington.  “I  don’t  believe  there  is  any 
North.  . . he  exclaimed.  “You  are  the  only  North- 

ern realities.”®  But  even  then  relief  was  at  hand.  The 
Seventh  New  York,  which  had  marched  down  Broadway 
amid  such  an  ovation  as  never  before  was  given  any  regi- 
ment in  America,  had  come  by  sea  to  Annapolis.  At  noon 
on  April  twenty-fifth,  it  reached  Washington  bringing, 
along  with  the  welcome  sight  of  its  own  bayonets,  the  news 
that  the  North  had  risen,  that  thousands  more  were  on  the 
march. 

Hay  who  met  them  at  the  depot  went  at  once  to  report 
to  Lincoln.  Already  the  President  had  reacted  to  a “pleas- 
ant, hopeful  mood.”  He  began  outlining  a tentative  plan 
of  action : blockade,  maintenance  of  the  safety  of  Wash- 
ington, holding  Fortress  Monroe,  and  then  to  “go  down  to 
Charleston  and  pay  her  the  little  debt  we  are  owing  there. 
But  this  was  an  undigested  plan.  It  had  little  resemblance 
to  any  of  his  later  plans.  And  immediately  the  chief  diffi- 
culties that  were  to  embarrass  all  his  plans  appeared.  Fie 
was  a minority  President;  and  he  was  the  Executive  of  a 
democracy.  Many  things  were  to  happen;  many  mistakes 
were  to  be  made;  many  times  the  piper  was  to  be  paid; 
ere  Lincoln  felt  sufficiently  sure  of  his  support  to  enforce 
a policy  of  his  own,  defiant  of  opposition. 

Throughout  the  spring  of  1861  his  imperative  need  was 


‘‘ON  TO  RICHMOND!” 


171 


to  secure  the  favor  of  the  Northern  mass,  to  shape  his 
policy  with  that  end  in  view.  At  least,  in  his  own  mind, 
this  seemed  to  be  his  paramount  obligation.  And  so  it 
j was  in  the  minds  of  his  advisers.  Lincoln  was  still  in  the 
pliable  mood  which  was  his  when  he  entered  office,  which 
continued  to  be  in  evidence,  except  for  sudden  momentary' 
disappearances  when  a different  Lincoln  flashed  an  instant 
into  view,  until  another  year  and  more  had  gone  by.  Still 
he  felt  himself  the  apprentice  hand  painfully  learning  the 
trade  of  man  of  action.  Still  he  was  deeply  sensitive  to 
advice. 

And  what  advice  did  the  country  give  him?  There 
was  one  roaring  shout  dinning  into  his  ears  all  round  the 
Northern  horizon — “On  to  Richmond!”  Following  Vir- 
ginia’s secession,  Richmond  had  become  the  Confederate 
capital.  It  was  expected  that  a session  of  the  Confederate 
Congress  would  open  at  Richmond  in  July.  “On  to  Rich- 
mond! Forward  to  Richmond!”  screamed  The  Tribune. 
“The  Rebel  Congress  must  not  be  allowed  to  meet  there 
on  the  20th  of  July.  By  that  date  the  place  must  be  held 
by  the  national  army.”  The  Times  advised  the  resigna- 
tion of  the  Cabinet;  it  warned  the  President  that  if  he  did 
not  give  prompt  satisfaction  he  would  be  superseded. 
Though  Lincoln  laughed  at  the  threat  of  The  Times  to 
“depose”  him,  he  took  very  seriously  all  the  swiftly  accumu- 
lating evidence  that  the  North  was  becoming  rashly  im- 
patient. Newspaper  correspondents  at  Washington  talked 
to  his  secretaries  “impertinently.”^  Members  of  Congress, 
either  carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  hour  or  with 
slavish  regard  to  the  hysteria  of  their  constituents,  thronged 
to  Washington  clamoring  for  action.  On  purely  political 
grounds,  if  on  no  other,  they  demanded  an  immediate  ad- 


172 


LINCOLN 


vance  into  Virginia.  Military  men  looked  with  irritation, 
if  not  with  contempt,  on  all  this  intemperate  popular  fury. 
That  grim  Sherman,  who  had  been  offended  by  Lincoln’s 
tone  the  month  previous,  put  their  feeling  into  words.  De- 
clining the  offer  of  a position  in  the  War  Department,  he 
wrote  that  he  wished  “the  Administration  all  success  in  its 
almost  impossible  task  of  governing  this  distracted  and 
anarchial  people.”® 

In  the  President’s  councils.  General  Scott  urged  delay, 
and  the  gathering  of  the  volunteers  into  camps  of  instruc- 
tion, their  deliberate'  transformation  into  a genuine  army. 
So  inadequate  were  the  resources  of  the  government;  so 
loose  and  uncertain  were  the  militia  organizations  which 
were  attempting  to  combine  into  an  army;  such  discrepK 
ancies  appeared  between  the  nominal  and  actual  strength 
of  commands,  between  the  places  where  men  were  supposed 
to  be  and  the  places  where  they  actually  were;  that  Lincoln 
in  his  droll  way  compared  the  process  of  mobilization  to 
shoveling  a bushel  of  fleas  across  a barn  floor.*^  From  the 
military  point  of  view  it  was  no  time  to  attempt  an  ad- 
vance. Against  the  military  argument,  three  political 
arguments  loomed  dark  in  the  minds  of  the  Cabinet;  there 
was  the  clamor  of  the  Northern  majority;  there  were  the 
threats  of  the  politicians  who  were  to  assemble  in  Con- 
gress, July  fourth;  there  was  the  term  of  service  of  the 
volunteers  which  had  been  limited  by  the  proclamation  to 
three  months.  Late  in  June,  the  Cabinet  decided  upon  the 
political  course,  overruled  the  military  advisers,  and  gave 
its  voice  for  an  immediate  advance  into  Virginia.  Lin- 
coln accepted  this  rash  advice.  Scott  yielded.  General 
Irwin  McDowell  was  ordered  to  strike  a Confederate  force 
that  had  assembled  at  Manassas.® 


‘^ON  TO  RICHMOND!’’ 


173 


On  the  fourth  of  July,  the  day  Congress  met,  the  gov- 
ernment made  use  of  a coup  de  theatre.  It  held  a review 
of  what  was  then  considered  a “grand  army”  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  men.  A few  days  later,  the  sensibilities  of 
the  Congressmen  were  further  exploited.  Impressionable 
members  were  “deeply  moved,”  when  the  same  host  in 
marching  order  passed  again  through  the  city  and  wheeled 
southward  toward  Virginia.  Confident  of  victory,  the 
Congressmen  spent  these  days  in  high  debate  upon  any- 
thing that  took  their  fancy.  When,  a fortnight  later,  it 
was  known  that  a battle  was  imminent,  many  of  them 
treated  the  occasion  as  a picnic.  They  took  horses,  or 
hired  vehicles,  and  away  they  went  southward  for  a jolly 
outing  on  the  day  the  Confederacy  was  to  collapse.  In 
the  mind  of  the  unfortunate  General  who  commanded  the 
expedition  a different  mood  prevailed.  In  depression,  he 
said  to  a friend,  “This  is  not  an  army.  It  will  take  a long 
time  to  make  an  army.”  But  his  duty  as  a soldier  for- 
bade him  to  oppose  his  superiors;  “the  poor  fellow  could 
not  proclaim  his  distrust  of  his  army  in  public.”^  Thought- 
ful observers  at  Washington  felt  danger  in  the  air,  both 
military  and  political. 

Sunday,  July  twenty-first,  dawned  clear.  It  was  the 
day  of  the  expected  battle.  A noted  Englishman,  setting 
out  for  the  front  as  war  correspondent  of  the  London 
Times,  observed  “the  calmness  and  silence  of  the  streets 
of  Washington,  this  early  morning.”  After  crossing  the 
Potomac,  he  felt  that  “the  promise  of  a lovely  day  given 
by  the  early  dawn  was  likely  to  be  realized  to  the  fullest” ; 
and  “the  placid  beauty  of  the  scenery  as  we  drove  through 
the  woods  below  Arlington”  delighted  him.  And  then 
about  nine  o’clock  his  thoughts  abandoned  the  scenery. 


174 


LINCOLN 


Through  those  beautiful  \^irginia  woods  came  the  distant 
roar  of  cannon. 

At  the  White  House  that  day  there  was  little  if  any 
alarm.  Reports  received  at  various  times  were  construed 
by  military  men  as  favorable.  These,  with  the  rooted  pre- 
conception that  the  army  had  to  be  successful,  established 
confidence  in  a victory  before  nightfall.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon, the  President  relieved  his  tension  by  taking  a drive. 
He  had  not  returned  when,  about  six  o’clock,  Seward  ap- 
peared and  asked  hoarsely  where  he  was.  The  secretaries 
told  him.  He  begged  them  to  find  the  President  as  quickly 
as  possible.  *‘Tell  no  one,”  said  he,  “but  the  battle  is  lost. 
The  army  is  in  full  retreat.” 

The  news  of  the  rout  at  Bull  Run  did  not  spread 
through  Washington  until  close  to  midnight.  It  caused 
an  instantaneous  panic.  In  the  small  hours,  the  space  be- 
fore the  Treasury  was  “a  moving  mass  of  humanity. 
Every  man  seemed  to  be  asking  every  man  he  met  for  the 
latest  news,  while  all  sorts  of  rumors  filled  the  air.  A feel- 
ing of  mingled  horror  and  despair  appeared  to  possess 
everybody.  . . . Our  soldiers  came  straggling  into 

the  city  covered  with  dust  and  many  of  them  wounded, 
while  the  panic  that  led  to  the  disaster  spread  like  a con- 
tagion through  all  classes.”  The  President  did  not  share 
the  panic.  He  “received  the  news  quietly  and  without  any 
visible  sign  of  perturbation  or  excitement.”^^  Now  appeared 
in  him  the  quality  which  led  Herndon  to  call  him  a fatalist. 
All  night  long  he  sat  unruffled  in  his  office,  while  refugees 
from  the  stricken  field — especially  those  overconfident 
Senators  and  Representatives  who  had  gone  out  to  watch 
the  overthrow  of  the  Confederates — poured  into  his  ears 
their  various  and  conflicting  accounts  of  the  catastrophe. 


‘^ON  TO  RICHMOND!’’ 


During  that  long  night  Lincoln  said  almost  nothing. 
Meanwhile,  fragments  of  the  routed  army  continued  to 
stream  into  the  city.  At  dawn  the  next  day  Washington 
was  possessed  by  a swarm  of  demoralized  soldiers  while  a 
dreary  rain  settled  over  it. 

The  silent  man  in  the  White  House  had  forgotten  for 
the  moment  his  dependence  upon  his  advisers.  While  the 
runaway  Senators  were  talking  themselves  out,  while  the 
rain  was  sheeting  up  the  city,  he  had  reached  two  con- 
clusions. Early  in  the  morning,  he  formulated  both.  One 
conclusion  was  a general  outline  for  the  conduct  of  a long 
war  in  which  the  first  move  should  be  a call  for  volunteers 
to  serve  three  years. The  other  conclusion  was  the 
choice  of  a conducting  general.  Scott  was  too  old.  Mc- 
Dowell had  failed.  But  there  was  a young  officer,  a West 
Pointer,  who  had  been  put  in  command  of  the  Ohio  militia, 
who  had  entered  the  Virginia  mountains  from  the  West, 
had  engaged  a small  force  there,  and  had  won  several 
small  but  rather  showy  victories.  Young  as  he  was,  he 
had  served  in  the  Mexican  War  and  was  supposed  to  be 
highly  accomplished.  On  the  day  following  Bull  Run, 
Lincoln  ordered  McClellan  to  Washington  to  take  com- 
mand. 


XVII 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 

While  these  startling  events  were  taking  place  in  the 
months  between  Sumter  and  Bull  Run,  Lincoln  passed 
through  a searching  intellectual  experience.  The  recon- 
ception of  his  problem,  which  took  place  in  March,  neces- 
sitated a readjustment  of  his  political  attitude.  He  had 
prepared  his  arsenal  for  the  use  of  a strategy  now  obviously 
beside  the  mark.  The  vital  part  of  the  first  inaugural  was 
its  attempt  to  cut  the  ground  from  under  the  slave 
profiteers.  Its  assertion  that  nothing  else  was  important, 
the  idea  that  the  crisis  was  ‘‘artificial,’’  was  sincere.  Two 
discoveries  had  revolutionized  Lincoln’s  thought.  The 
discovery  that  what  the  South  was  in  earnest  about  was 
not  slavery  but  State  sovereignty;  the  discovery  that  the 
North  was  far  from  a unit  upon  nationalism.  To  meet 
the  one,  to  organize  the  other,  was  the  double  task  pre- 
cipitated by  the  fall  of  Sumter.  Not  only  as  a line  of  at- 
tack, but  also  as  a means  of  defense,  Lincoln  had  to  raise 
to  its  highest  power  the  argument  for  the  sovereign  reality 
of  the  national  government.  The  effort  to  do  this  formed 
the  silent  inner  experience  behind  the  surging  external 
events  in  the  stormy  months  between  April  and  July.  It 
was  governed  by  a firmness  not  paralleled  in  his  outward 
course.  As  always,  Lincoln  the  thinker  asked  no  advice. 
It  was  Lincoln  the  administrator,  painfully  learning  a new 

176 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


177 


trade,  who  was  timid,  wavering,  pliable  in  council.  Behind 
the  apprentice  in  statecraft,  the  lonely  thinker  stood  apart, 
inflexible  as  ever,  impervious  to  fear.  The  thinking  which 
he  formulated  in  the  late  spring  and  early  summer  of  1861 
obeyed  his  invariable  law  of  mental  gradualness.  It  arose 
out  of  the  deep  places  of  his  own  past.  He  built  up  his 
new  conclusion  by  drawing  together  conclusions  he  had 
long  held,  by  charging  them  with  his  later  experience,  by 
giving  to  them  a new  turn,  a new  significance. 

Lincoln’s  was  one  of  those  natures  in  which  ideas  have 
to  become  latent  before  they  can  be  precipitated  by  outward 
circumstance  into  definite  form.  Always  with  him  the  idea 
that  was  to  become  powerful  at  a crisis  was  one  that  he 
had  long  held  in  solution,  that  had  permeated  him  without 
his  formulating  it,  that  had  entwined  itself  with  his  heart- 
strings; never  was  it  merely  a conscious  act  of  the  logical 
faculty.  His  characteristics  as  a lawyer — ^preoccupation 
with  basal  ideas,  with  ethical  significance,  with  those  emo- 
tions which  form  the  ultimates  of  life — these  always  de- 
termined his  thought.  His  idea  of  nationalism  was  a 
typical  case.  He  had  always  believed  in  the  reality  of  the 
national  government  as  a sovereign  fact.  But  he  had 
thought  little  about  it;  rather  he  had  taken  it  for  granted. 
It  was  so  close  to  his  desire  that  he  could  not  without  an 
effort  acknowledge  the  sincerity  of  disbelief  in  it.  That 
w^as  why  he  was  so  slow  in  forming  a true  comprehension 
of  the  real  force  opposing  him.  Disunion  had  appeared  to 
him  a mere  device  of  party  strategy.  That  it  was  grounded 
upon  a genuine,  a passionate  conception  of  government, 
one  irreconcilable  with  his  own,  struck  him,  when  at  last  he 
grasped  it,  as  a deep  offense.  The  literary  statesman 
sprang  again  to  life.  He  threw  all  the  strength  of  his 


178 


LINCOLN 


mind,  the  peculiar  strength  that  had  made  him  president, 
into  a statement  of  the  case  for  nationalism. 

His  vehicle  for  publishing  his  case  was  the  first  mes- 
sage to  Congress.^  It  forms  an  amazing  contrast  with  the 
first  inaugural.  The  argument  over  slavery  that  underlies 
the  whole  of  the  inaugural  has  vanished.  The  message 
does  not  mention  slavery.  From  the  first  word  to  the  last, 
it  is  an  argument  for  the  right  of  the  central  government 
to  exercise  sovereign  power,  and  for  the  duty  of  the  Amer- 
ican people  to  give  their  lives  for  the  Union.  No  hint  of 
compromise;  nought  of  the  cautious  and  conciliatory  tone 
of  the  inaugural.  It  is  the  blast  of  a trumpet — a war 
trumpet.  It  is  the  voice  of  a stern  mind  confronting  an 
adversary  that  arouses  in  him  no  sympathy,  no  tolerance 
even,  much  less  any  thought  of  concession.  Needless  to 
insist  that  this  adversary  is  an  idea.  Toward  every  human 
adversary,  Lincoln  was  always  unbelievably  tender. 
Though  little  of  a theologian,  he  appreciated  intuitively 
some  metaphysical  ideas;  he  projected  into  politics  the 
philosopher’s  distinction  between  sin  and  the  sinner.  For 
all  his  hatred  of  the  ideas  which  he  held  to  be  treason,  he 
never  had  a vindictive  impulse  directed  toward  the  men 
who  accepted  those  ideas.  Destruction  for  the  idea,  infi- 
nite clemency  for  the  person — such  was  his  attitude. 

It  was  the  idea  of  disunion,  involving  as  he  believed,  a 
misconception  of  the  American  government,  and  by  impli- 
cation, a misconception  of  the  true  function  of  all  govern- 
ments everywhere,  against  which  he  declared  a war  with- 
out recourse. 

The  basis  of  his  argument  reaches  back  to  his  oration 
on  Clay,  to  his  assertion  that  Clay  loved  his  country,  partly 
because  it  was  his  country,  even  more  because  it  was  a free 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


179 


country.  This  ide^  ran  through  Lincoln’s  thinking  to  the 
end.  There  was  in  him  a suggestion  of  internationalism. 
At  the  full  height  of  his  power,  in  his  complete  maturity  as 
a political  thinker,  he  said  that  the  most  sacred  bond  in 
life  should  be  the  brotherhood  of  the  workers  of  all  nations. 
No  words  of  his  are  more  significant  than  his  remarks  to 
passing  soldiers  in  1863,  such  as,  ‘Hhere  is  more  involved 
in  this  contest  than  is  realized  by  every  one.  There  is  in- 
volved in  this  struggle  the  question  whether  your  children 
and  my  children  shall  enjoy  the  privileges  we  have  en- 
joyed.” And  again,  ‘T  happen  temporarily  to  occupy  this 
White  House.  I am  a living  witness  that  any  one  of  your 
children  may  look  to  come  here  as  my  father’s  child  has.”^ 

This  idea,  the  idea  that  the  ‘^plain  people”  are  the  chief 
concern  of  governmient  was  the  bed  rock  of  all  his  political 
thinking.  The  mature,  historic  Lincoln  is  first  of  all  a 
leader  of  the  plain  people — of  the  mass — as  truly  as  was 
Cleon,  or  Robespierre,  or  Andrew  Jackson.  His  gentle- 
ness does  not  remove  him  from  that  stern  category.  The 
latent  fanaticism  that  is  in  every  man,  or  almost  every 
man,  was  grounded  in  Lincoln,  on  his  faith — so  whimsically 
expressed! — that  God  must  have  loved  the  plain  people 
because  he  had  made  so  many  of  them.^  The  basal  appeal 
of  the  first  message  was  in  the  words : 

‘‘This  is  essentially  a people’s  contest.  On  the  side  of 
the  Union  it  is  a struggle  for  maintaining  in  the  world  that 
form  and  substance  of  government  whose  leading  object 
is  to  elevate  the  condition  of  men;  to  lift  artificial  weights 
from  all  shoulders;  to  clear  the  paths  of  laudable  pursuit 
for  all;  to  afford  all  an  unfettered  start  and  a fair  chance 
in  the  race  of  life.”^ 

Not  a war  over  slavery,  not  a war  to  preserve  a constitu- 


i8o 


LINCOLN 


tional  system,  but  a war  to  assert  and  maintain  the  sover- 
eignty of — ^‘We,  the  People.’’ 

But  how  was  it  to  be  proved  that  this  was,  in  fact,  the 
true  issue  of  the  moment?  Here,  between  the  lines  of  the 
first  message,  Lincoln’s  deepest  feelings  are  to  be  glimpsed. 
Out  of  the  discovery  that  Virginia  honestly  believed  herself 
a sovereign  power,  he  had  developed  in  himself  a deep, 
slow-burning  fervor  that  probably  did  much  toward  fusing 
him  into  the  great  Lincoln  of  history.  But  why?  What 
was  there  in  that  idea  which  should  strike  so  deep?  Why 
was  it  not  merely  one  view  in  a permissible  disagreement 
over  the  interpretation  of  the  Constitution?  Why  did  the 
cause  of  the  people  inspire  its  champion  to  regard  the  doc- 
trine of  State  sovereignty  as  anti-christ?  Lincoln  has  not 
revealed  himself  on  these  points  in  so  many  words.  But 
he  has  revealed  himself  plainly  enough  by  implication. 

The  clue  is  in  that  element  of  Internationa lisn?  which 
lay  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  There  must  be  no  misunder- 
standing of  this  element.  It  was  not  pointing  along  the 
way  of  the  modern  ‘‘international.”  Lincoln  would  have 
fought  Bolshevism  to  the  death.  Side  by  side  with  his 
assertion  of  the  sanctity  of  the  international  bond  of  labor, 
stands  his  assertion  of  a sacred  right  in  property  and  that 
capital  is  a necessity.^  His  internationalism  was  ethical, 
not  opportunistic.  It  grew,  as  all  his  ideas  grew,  not  out 
of  a theorem,  not  from  a constitutional  interpretation,  but 
from  his  overpowering  commiseration  for  the  mass  of  man- 
kind. It  was  a practical  matter.  Here  were  poor  people 
to  be  assisted,  to  be  enriched  in  their  estate,  to  be  enlarged 
in  spirit.  The  mode  of  reaching  the  result  was  not  the 
thing.  Any  mode,  all  sorts  of  modes,  might  be  used. 
What  counted  was  the  purpose  to  work  relief,  and  the  will- 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


i8i 


ingness  to  throw  overboard  whatever  it  might  be  that 
tended  to  defeat  the  purpose.  His  internationalism  was 
but  a denial  of  ‘‘my  country  right  or  wrong.”  There  can 
be  little  doubt  that,  in  last  resort,  he  would  have  repudiated 
his  country  rather  than  go  along  with  it  in  opposition  to 
what  he  regarded  as  the  true  purpose  of  government.  And 
that  was,  to  advance  the  welfare  of  the  mass  of  mankind. 

He  thought  upon  this  subject  in  the  same  manner  in 
which  he  thought  as  a lawyer,  sweeping  aside  everything 
but  what  seemed  to  him  the  ethical  reality  at  the  heart  of 
the  case.  For  him  the  “right”  of  a State  to  do  this  or  that 
was  a constitutional  question  only  so  long  as  it  did  not 
cross  that  other  more  universal  “right,”  the  paramount 
“charter  of  liberty,”  by  which,  in  his  view,  all  other  rights 
were  conditioned.  He  would  impose  on  all  mankind,  as 
their  basic  moral  obligation,  the  duty  to  sacrifice  all  per- 
sonal likes,  personal  ambitions,  when  these  in  their  perma- 
nent tendencies  ran  contrary  to  the  tendency  which  he  rated 
as  paramount.  Such  had  always  been,  and  was  always  to 
continue,  his  own  attitude  toward  slavery.  No  one  ever 
loathed  it  more.  But  he  never  permitted  it  to  take  the 
first  place  in  his  thoughts.  If  it  could  be  eradicated  with- 
out in  the  process  creating  dangers  for  popular  govern- 
ment he  would  rejoice.  But  all  the  schemes  of  the  Aboli- 
tionists, hitherto,  he  had  condemned  as  dangerous  devices 
because  they  would  strain  too  severely  the  fabric  of  the 
popular  state,  would  violate  agreements  which  alone  made 
it  possible.  Therefore,  being  always  relentless  toward 
himself,  he  required  of  himself  the  renunciation  of  this 
personal  hope  whenever,  in  whatever  way,  it  threatened  to 
make  less  effective  the  great  democratic  state  which  ap- 
peared to  him  the  central  fact  of  the  world. 


LINCOLN 


182 


The  enlargement  of  his  reasoning  led  him  inevitably  to 
an  unsparing  condemnation  of  the  Virginian  theory.  One 
of  his  rare  flashes  of  irritation  was  an  exclamation  that 
Virginia  loyalty  always  had  an  ‘hf.”®  At  this  point,  to 
make  him  entirely  plain,  there  is  needed  another  basic  as- 
sumption which  he  has  never  quite  formulated.  However, 
it  is  so  obviously  latent  in  his  thinking  that  the  main  lines 
are  to  be  made  out  clearly  enough.  Building  ever  on  that 
paramount  obligation  of  all  mankind  to  consider  first  the 
welfare  of  God’s  plain  people,  he  assumed  that  whenever 
by  any  course  of  action  any  congregation  of  men  were 
thrown  together  and  led  to  form  any  political  unit,  they 
were  never  thereafter  free  to  disregard  in  their  attitude  to- 
ward that  unit  its  value  in  supporting  and  advancing  the 
general  cause  of  the  welfare  of  the  plain  people.  A sweep- 
ing, and  in  some  contingencies,  a terrible  doctrine!  Cer- 
tainly, as  to  individuals,  classes,  communities  even,  a doc- 
trine that  might  easily  become  destructive.  But  it  formed 
the  basis  of  all  Lincoln’s  thought  about  the  ‘‘majority”  in 
America.  Upon  it  would  have  rested  his  reply,  had  he 
ever  made  a reply,  to  the  Virginia  contention  that  while  his 
theory  might  apply  to  each  individual  State,  it  could  not 
apply  to  the  group  of  States.  He  would  have  treated  such 
a reply,  whether  fairly  or  unfairly,  as  a legal  technicality. 
He  would  have  said  in  substance : here  is  a congregation 
to  be  benefited,  this  great  mass  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  all 
the  States  of  the  Union;  accident,  or  destiny,  or  what  you 
will,  has  brought  them  together,  but  here  they  are ; they  are 
moving  forward,  haltingly,  irregularly,  but  steadily,  toward 
fuller  and  fuller  democracy ; they  are  part  of  the  universal 
democratic  movement;  their  vast  experiment  has  an  inter- 
national significance;  it  is  the  hope  of  the  “Liberal  party 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


183 


throughout  the  world” ; to  check  that  experiment,  to  break 
it  into  separate  minor  experiments;  to  reduce  the  imposing 
promise  of  its  example  by  making  it  seem  unsuccessful, 
would  be  treason  to  mankind.  Therefore,  both  on  South 
and  North,  both  on  the  Seceders  he  meant  to  fight  and  on 
those  Northerners  of  whom  he  was  not  entirely  sure,  he 
aimed  to  impose  the  supreme  immediate  duty  of  proving  to 
the  world  that  democracy  on  a great  scale  could  have  suffi- 
cient vitality  to  maintain  itself  against  any  sort  of  attack. 
Anticipating  faintly  the  Gettysburg  oration,  the  first  mes- 
sage contained  these  words:  “And  this  issue  embraces 
more  than  the  fate  of  these  United  States.  It  presents  to 
the  whole  family  of  man  the  question  whether  a constitu- 
tional republic,  or  democracy — a government  of  the  people 
by  the  same  people — can  or  can  not  maintain  its  integrity 
against  its  own  domestic  foes.  . . . Must  a government 
of  necessity  be  too  strong  for  the  liberties  of  its  people  or 
too  weak  to  maintain  its  own  existence?”^  He  told  Hay 
that  “the  crucial  idea  pervading  this  struggle  is  the  neces- 
sity that  is  upon  us  to  prove  that  popular  government  is  not 
an  absurdity”;  “that  the  basal  issue  was  whether  or  no  the 
people  could  govern  themselves.”® 

But  all  this  elaborate  reasoning,  if  it  went  no  further, 
lacked  authority.  It  was  political  speculation.  To  clothe 
itself  with  authority  it  had  to  discover  a foundation  in 
historic  fact.  The  real  difficulty  was  not  what  ought  to  have 
been  established  in  America  in  the  past,  but  what  actually 
had  been.  Where  was  the  warrant  for  those  bold  proposi- 
tions— who  “we,  the  people,”  really  were;  in  what  their 
sovereign  power  really  consisted;  what  was  history’s  voice 
in  the  matter?  To  state  an  historic  foundation  was  the 
final  aim  of  the  message.  To  hit  its  mark  it  had  to  silence 


184 


LINCOLN 


those  Northerners  who  denied  the  obligation  to  fight  for 
the  Union;  it  had  to  oppose  their  “free  love”  ideas  of  polit- 
ical unity  with  the  conception  of  an  established  historic 
government,  one  which  could  not  be  overthrown  except 
through  the  nihilistic  process  of  revolution.  So  much  has 
been  written  upon  the  exact  location  of  sovereignty  in  the 
American  federal  State  that  it  is  difficult  to  escape  the  legal- 
istic attitude,  and  to  treat  the  matter  purely  as  history. 
So  various,  so  conflicting,  and  at  times  so  tenuous,  are  the 
theories,  that  a flippant  person  might  be  forgiven  did  he 
turn  from  the  whole  discussion  saying  impatiently  it  was 
blind  man’s  buff.  But  on  one  thing,  at  least,  we  must  all 
agree.  Once  there  was  a king  over  this  country,  and  now 
there  is  no  king.  Once  the  British  Crown  was  the  sover- 
eign, and  now  the  Crown  has  receded  into  the  distance  be- 
yond the  deep  blue  sea.  When  the  Crown  renounced  its 
sovereignty  in  America,  what  became  of  it?  Did  it  break 
into  fragments  and  pass  peacemeal  to  the  various  revolted 
colonies?  Was  it  transferred  somehow  to  the  group  col- 
lectively? These  are  the  obvious  theories;  but  there  are 
others.  And  the  others  give  rise  to  subtler  speculations. 
Who  was  it  that  did  the  actual  revolting  against  the  Crown 
— colonies,  parties,  individuals,  the  whole  American  people, 
who? 

Troublesome  questions  these,  with  which  Lincoln  and 
the  men  of  his  time  did  not  deal  in  the  spirit  of  historical 
science.  Their  wishes  fathered  their  thoughts.  Southern- 
ers, practically  without  exception,  held  the  theory  of  the 
disintegration  of  the  Crown’s  prerogative,  its  distribution 
among  the  States.  The  great  leaders  of  Northern  thought 
repudiated  the  idea.  Webster  and  Clay  would  have  none 
of  it.  But  their  own  theories  were  not  always  consistent; 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


185 


and  they  differed  among  themselves.  Lincoln  did  the 
natural  thing.  He  fastened  upon  the  tendencies  in  North- 
ern thought  that  supported  his  own,  faith.  Chief  among 
these  was  the  idea  that  sovereignty  passed  to  the  general 
congregation  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  colonies — “we,  the 
people” — because  we,  the  people,  were  the  real  power  that 
supported  the  revolt.  He  had  accepted  the  idea  that  the 
American  Revolution  was  an  uprising  of  the  people,  that 
its  victory  was  in  a transfer  of  sovereign  rights  from  an 
English  Crown  to  an  American  nation;  that  a new  col- 
lective state,  the  Union,  was  created  by  this  nation  as  the 
first  act  of  the  struggle,  and  that  it  was  to  the  Union  that 
the  Crown  succumbed,  to  the  Union  that  its  prerogative 
passed.  To  put  this  idea  in  its  boldest  and  its  simplest 
terms  was  the  crowning  effort  of  the  message. 

“The  States  have  their  status  in  the  Union  and  they 
have  no  other  legal  status.  If  they  break  from  this,  they 
can  only  do  so  against  law  and  by  revolution.  The  Union, 
and  not  themselves  separately,  procured  their  independence 
and  their  liberty.  By  conquest  or  purchase,  the  Union 
gave  each  of  them  whatever  of  independence  and  liberty  it 
has.  The  Union  is  older  than  any  of  the  States,  and  in  fact, 
it  created  them  as  States.  Originally  some  dependent  colo- 
nies made  the  Union,  and  in  turn,  the  Union  threw  off  this 
old  dependence  for  them  and  made  them  States,  such  as 
they  are.”® 

This  first  message  completes  the  evolution  of  Lincoln 
as  a political  thinker.  It  is  his  third,  his  last  great  land- 
mark. The  Peoria  speech,  which  drew  to  a focus  all  the 
implications  of  his  early  life,  laid  the  basis  of  his  political 
significance;  the  Cooper  Union  speech,  summing  up  his 
conflict  with  Douglas,  applied  his  thinking  to  the  new  issue 


i86 


LINCOLN 


precipitated  by  John  Brown;  but  in  both  these  he  was  still 
predominantly  a negative  thinker,  still  the  voice  of  an 
opposition.  With  the  first  message,  he  became  creative; 
he  drew  together  what  was  latent  in  his  earlier  thought ; he 
discarded  the  negative;  he  laid  the  foundation  of  all  his 
subsequent  policy.  The  breadth  and  depth  of  his  thinking 
is  revealed  by  the  fulness  with  which  the  message  develops 
the  implications  of  his  theory.  In  so  doing,  he  anticipated 
the  main  issues  that  were  to  follow:  his  determination  to 
keep  nationalism  from  being  narrowed  into  mere  ‘‘North- 
emism”;  his  efiort  to  create  an  all-parties  government;  his 
stubborn  insistence  that  he  was  suppressing  an  insurrection,, 
not  waging  external  war;  his  doctrine  that  the  Executive, 
having  been  chosen  by  the  entire  people,  was  the  one  ex- 
pression of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  and  therefore, 
the  repository  of  all  these  exceptional  ‘‘war  powers”  that 
are  dormant  in  time  of  peace.  Upon  each  of  those  issues 
he  was  destined  to  wage  fierce  battles  with  the  politicians 
who  controlled  Congress,  who  sought  to  make  Congress 
his  master,  who  thwarted,  tormented  and  almost  defeated 
Jiim.  In  the  light  of  subsequent  history  the  first  message 
has  another  aspect  besides  its  significance  as  political 
science.  In  its  clear  understanding  of  the  implications  of 
his  attitude,  it  attains  political  second  sight.  As  Lincoln, 
immovable,  gazes  far  into  the  future,  his  power  of  vision 
makes  him,  yet  again  though  in  a widely  different  sense, 
the  “seer  in  a trance,  Seeing  all  his  own  mischance.” 

^ His  troubles  with  Congress  began  at  once.  The  message 
was  received  on  July  fourth,  politely,  but  with  scant  re- 
sponse to  its  ideas.  During  two  weeks,  while  Congress  in 
its  fatuousness  thought  that  the  battle  impending  in  Vir- 
ginia would  settle  things,  the  majority  in  Congress  would 


DEFINING  THE  ISSUE 


187 


not  give  assent  to  Lincoln’s  view  of  what  the  war  was 
about.  And  then  came  Bull  Run.  In  a flash  the  situation 
changed.  Fatuousness  was  puffed  out  like  a candle  in  a 
wind.  The  rankest  extremist  saw  that  Congress  must 
cease  from  its  debates  and  show  its  hand;  must  say  what 
the  war  was  about;  must  inform  the  nation  whether  it  did 
or  did  not  agree  with  the  President. 

On  the  day  following  Bull  Run,  Crittenden  introduced 
this  resolution : “That  the  present,  deplorable  civil  war 
has  been  forced  upon  the  country  by  the  Disunionists  of 
the  Southern  States,  now  in  arms  against  the  constitutional 
government,  and  in  arms  around  the  capital;  that  in  this 
national  emergency.  Congress,  banishing  all  feelings  of 
mere  passion  and  resentment,  will  recollect  only  its  duty 
to  the  whole  country;  that  this  war  is  not  waged  on  their 
part  in  any  spirit  of  oppression  or  for  any  purpose  of  con- 
quest or  subjugation,  or  purpose  of  overthrowing  or  inter- 
fering v/ith  the  rights  or  established  institutions  of  these 
States,  but  to  defend  and  maintain  the  supremacy  of  the 
Constitution,  and  to  preserve  the  Union,  with  all  the  dig- 
nity, equality,  and  rights  of  the  several  States  unimpaired; 
and  that  as  soon  as  these  objects  are  accomplished,  the  war 
ought  to  cease.”  This  Crittenden  Resolution  was  passed 
instantly  by  both  Houses,  without  debate  and  almost  with- 
out opposition.^® 

Paradoxically,  Bull  Run  had  saved  the  day  for  Lincoln, 
had  enabled  him  to  v/in  his  first  victory  as  a statesman. 


XVIII 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 

The  keen  Englishman  who  had  observed  the  beauty 
of  the  Virginian  woods  on  “Bull  Run  Sunday,”  said,  after 
the  battle  was  lost,  “I  hope  Senator  Wilson  is  satisfied.” 
He  was  sneering  at  the  whole  group  of  intemperate  Senators 
none  of  whom  had  ever  smelled  powder,  but  who  knew  it 
all  when  it  came  to  war ; who  had  done  their  great  share  in 
driving  the  President  and  the  generals  into  a premature 
advance.  Senator  Wilson  was  one  of  those  who  went  out 
to  Manassas  to  see  the  Confederacy  overthrown,  that  fate- 
ful Sunday.  He  was  one  of  the  most  precipitate  among 
those  who  fled  back  to  Washington.  On  the  way,  driving 
furiously,  amid  a press  of  men  and  vehicles,  he  passed  a 
carriage  containing  four  Congressmen  who  were  taking 
their  time.  Perhaps  irritated  by  their  coolness,  he  shouted 
to  them  to  make  haste.  “If  we  were  in  as  big  a hurry  as 
you  are,”  replied  Congressman  Riddle,  scornfully,  “we 
would.” 

These  four  Congressmen  played  a curiously  dramatic 
part  before  they  got  back  to  Washington.  So  did  a party 
of  Senators  with  whom  they  joined  forces.  This  other 
party,  at  the  start,  also  numbered  four.  They  had  planned 
a jolly  picnic — this  day  that  was  to  prove  them  right  in 
hurrying  the  government  into  battle ! — and  being  wise  men 
who  knew  how  to  take  time  by  the  forelock,  they  had  taken 
their  luncheon  with  them.  From  what  is  known  of  Wash- 

188 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


189 


ington  and  Senators,  then  as  now,  one  may  risk  a good 
deal  that  the  luncheon  was  worth  while.  Part  of  the 
tragedy  of  that  day  was  the  accidental  break-up  of  this 
party  with  the  result  amid  the  confusion  of  a road  crowded 
by  pleasure-seekers,  that  two  Senators  went  one  way  carry- 
ing off  the  luncheon,  while  the  other  two,  making  the  best 
of  the  disaster,  continued  southward  through  those  beauti- 
ful early  hours  when  Russell  was  admiring  the  scenery, 
their  luncheon  all  to  seek.  The  lucky  men  with  the  lunch- 
eon were  the  Senators  Benjamin  Wade  and  Zachary 
Chandler.  Senator  Trumbull  and  Senator  Grimes,  both  on 
horseback,  were  left  to  their  own  devices.  However,  for- 
tune was  with  them.  Several  hours  later  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  food  by  the  wayside  and  were  resting  in 
a grove  of  trees  some  distance  beyond  the  village  of  Center- 
ville. Suddenly,  they  suffered  an  appalling  surprise ; happen- 
ing to  look  up,  they  beheld  emerging  out  of  the  distance, 
a stampede  of  men  and  horses  which  came  thunder- 
ing down  the  country  road,  not  a hundred  yards  from 
where  they  sat.  “We  immediately  mounted  our  horses,’' 
as  Trumbull  wrote  to  his  wife  the  next  day,  “and  galloped 
to  the  road,  by  which  time  it  was  crowded,  hundreds  being 
in  advance  on  the  way  to  Centerville  and  two  guns  of 
Sherman’s  battery  having  already  passed  in  full  retreat. 
We  kept  on  with  the  crowd,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do. 
. . . We  fed  our  horses  at  Centerville  and  left  there 

at  six  o’clock.  . . . Came  on  to  Fairfax  Court  House 

where  we  got  supper  and,  leaving  there  at  ten  o’clock 
reached  home  at  half  past  two  this  morning.  ...  I 
am  dreadfully  disappointed  and  mortified.”^ 

Meanwhile,  what  of  those  other  gay  picnickers.  Senator 
Wade  and  Senator  Chandler?  They  drove  in  a carriage. 


LINCOLN 


190 

Viewing  the  obligations  of  the  hour  much  as  did  C.  C. 

^ Clay  at  the  President’s  reception,  they  were  armed.  Wade 
had  “his  famous  rifle”  which  he  had  brought  with  him  to 
Congress,  which  at  times  in  the  fury  of  debate  he  had 
threatened  to  use,  which  had  become  a byword.  These 
Senators  seem  to  have  ventured  nearer  to  the  front  than 
did  Trumbull  and  Grimes,  and  were  a little  later  in  the 
retreat.  At  a “choke-up,”  still  on  the  far  side  of  Center- 
ville, their  carriage  passed  the  carriage  of  the  four  Con- 
gressmen— who,  by  the  way,  were  also  armed,  having 
among  them  “four  of  the  largest  navy  revolvers.” 

All  these  men,  whatever  their  faults  or  absurdities, 
were  intrepid.  The  Congressmen,  at  least,  were  in  no  good 
humor,  for  they  had  driven  through  a regiment  of  three- 
months  men  whose  time  expired  that  day  and  who  despite 
the  cannon  in  the  distance  were  hurrying  home. 

The  race  of  the  fugitives  continued.  At  Centerville, 
the  Congressmen  passed  Wade.  Soon  afterward  Wade 
passed  them  for  the  second  time.  About  a mile  out  of 
Fairfax  Court  House,  “at  the  foot  of  a long  down  grade, 
the  pike  on  the  northerly  side  was  fenced  and  ran  along  a 
farm.  On  the  other  side  for  a considerable  distance  was 
a wood,  utterly  impenetrable  for  men  or  animals,  larger 
than  cats  or  squirrels.”  Here  the  Wade  carriage  stopped. 
The  congressional  carriage  drove  up  beside  it.  The  two 
blocked  a narrow  way  where  as  in  the  case  of  Horatius  at 
the  bridge,  “a  thousand  might  well  be  stopped  by  three.” 
And  then  “bluff  Ben  Wade”  showed  the  mettle  that  was  in 
him.  The  “old  Senator,  his  hat  well  back  on  his  head,” 
sprang  out  of  his  carriage,  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  and  called 
to  the  others,  “Boys,  we’ll  stop  this  damned  runaway.” 
And  they  did  it.  Only  six  of  them,  but  they  lined  up 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


191 

across  that  narrow  road ; presented  their  weapons  and 
threatened  to  shoot  ; seized  the  bridles  of  horses  and  flung 
the  horses  back  on  their  haunches;  checked  a panic-stricken 
army;  held  it  at  bay,  until  just  when  it  seemed  they  were 
about  to  be  overwhelmed,  military  reserves  hurrying  out 
from  Fairfax  Court  House,  took  command  of  the  road. 
Cool,  unpretentious  Riddle  calls  the  episode  ‘‘Wade’s  ex- 
ploit,” and  adds  “it  was  much  talked  of.”  The  newspapers 
dealt  with  it  extravagantly.- 

Gallant  as  the  incident  was,  it  was  all  the  military 
service  that  “Ben”  Wade  and  “Zach”  Chandler — for  thus 
they  are  known  in  history — ever  saw.  But  one  may  be- 
lieve that  it  had  a lasting  effect  upon  their  point  of  view 
and  on  that  of  their  friend  Lyman  Trumbull.  Certain  it 
is  that  none  of  the  three  thereafter  had  any  doubts  about 
putting  the  military  men  in  their  place.  All  the  error  of 
their  own  view  previous  to  Bull  Run  was  forgotten.  Wade 
and  Chandler,  especially,  when  military  questions  were  in 
dispute,  felt  that  no  one  possibly  could  know  more  of  the 
subject  than  did  the  men  who  stopped  the  rout  in  the  nar- 
row road  beyond  Fairfax. 

Three  of  those  picnickers  who  missed  their  guess  on 
Bull  Run  Sunday,  Wade,  Chandler  and  Trumbull,  were 
destined  to  important  parts  in  the  stern  years  that  were  to 
come.  Before  the  close  of  the  year  1861  the  three  made 
a second  visit  to  the  amiy ; and  this  time  they  kept  together. 
To  that  second  visit  momentous  happenings  may  be  traced. 
How  it  came  about  must  be  fully  understood. 

Two  of  the  three,  Wade  and  Chandler,  were  tempera'^ 
mentally  incapable  of  understanding  Lincoln.  Both  were 
men  of  fierce  souls ; each  had  but  a very  limited  experience. 
Wade  had  been  a country  lawyer  in  Ohio ; Chandler,  a pros- 


192 


LINCOLN 


perous  manufacturer  in  Michigan.  They  were  party  men 
by  instinct,  blind  to  the  faults  of  their  own  side,  blind  to 
the  virtues  of  their  enemies.  They  were  rabid  for  the  con- 
trol of  the  government  by  their  own  organized  machine. 

Of  Chandler,  in  Michigan,  it  was  said  that  he  “carried 
the  Republican  organization  in  his  breeches  pocket’’;  partly 
through  control  of  the  Federal  patronage,  which  Lincoln 
frankly  conceded  to  him,  partly  through  a “judicious  use 
of  money.”^  Chandler’s  first  clash  with  Lincoln  was  upon 
the  place  that  the  Republican  machine  was  to  hold  in  the 
conduct  of  the  war. 

From  the  beginning  Lincoln  was  resolved  that  the  war 
should  not  be  merely  a party  struggle.  Even  before  he 
was  inaugurated,  he  said  that  he  meant  to  hold  the  Demcv 
crats  “close  to  the  Administration  on  the  naked  Union 
issue.”^  He  had  added,  “We  must  make  it  easy  for  them” 
to  support  the  government  “because  we  can’t  live  through 
the  case  without  them.”  This  was  the  foundation  of  his 
attempt — so  obvious  between  the  lines  of  the  first  message 
— to  create  an  all-parties  government.  This,  Chandler 
violently  opposed.  Violence  was  always  Chandler’s  note, 
so  much  so  that  a scornful  opponent  once  called  him 
“Xantippe  in  pants.” 

Lincoln  had  given  Chandler  a cause  of  offense  in  Mc- 
Clellan’s elevation  to  the  head  of  the  army.*  McClellan 
was  a Democrat.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Lincoln 
took  the  fact  into  account  in  selecting  him.  Shortly  be- 
fore, Lincoln  had  aimed  to  placate  the  Republicans  by 
showing  high  honor  to  their  popular  hero,  Fremont. 

* Strictly  speaking  he  did  not  become  head  of  the  army  until  the 
retirement  of  Scott  in  November.  Practically,  he  was  supreme  almost 
from  the  moment  of  his  arrival  in  Washington. 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


193 


When  the  catastrophe  occurred  at  Bull  Run,  Fremont  was 
a major-general  commanding  the  Western  Department  with 
headquarters  at  St.  Louis.  He  was  one  of  the  same  violent 
root-and-branch  wing  of  the  Republicans — ^the  Radicals  of 
a latter  day — of  which  Chandler  was  a leader.  The  temper 
of  that  wing  had  already  been  revealed  by  Senator  Baker 
in  his  startling  pronouncement:  ‘‘We  of  the  North  control 
the  Union,  and  we  are  going  to  govern  our  own  L^nion  in 
our  own  way.”  Chandler  was  soon  to  express  it  still  more 
exactly,  saying,  “A  rebel  has  sacrificed  all  his  rights.  He 
has  no  right  to  life,  liberty  or  the  pursuit  of  happiness.”® 
Here  was  that  purpose  to  narrowing  nationalism  into  North- 
ernism,  even  to  radicalism,  and  to  make  the  war  an  outlet 
for  a sectional  ferocity,  which  Lincoln  was  so  firmly  de- 
termined to  prevent.  All  things  considered,  the  fact  that 
on  the  day  following  Bull  Run  he  did  not  summon  the  Re- 
publican hero  to  Washington,  that  he  did  summon  a Demo- 
crat, was  significant.  It  opened  his  long  duel  with  the 
extremists. 

The  vindictive  spirit  of  the  extremists  had  been  re- 
buffed by  Lincoln  in  another  way.  Shortly  after  Bull 
Run,  Wade  and  Chandler  appealed  to  Lincoln  to  call  out 
negro  soldiers.  Chandler  said  that  he  did  not  care  whether 
or  no  this  would  produce  a servile  insurrection  in  the  South. 
Lincoln’s  refusal  made  another  count  in  the  score  of  the 
extremists  against  him.® 

During  the  late  summer  of  1861,  Chandler,  Wade, 
Trumbull,  were  all  busily  organizing  their  forces  for  an 
attack  on  the  Administration.  Trumbull,  indeed,  seemed 
out  of  place  in  that  terrible  company.  In  time,  he  found 
that  he  was  out  of  place.  At  a crucial  moment  he  came 
over  to  Lincoln.  But  not  until  he  had  done  yeoman’s 


194 


LINCOLN 


service  with  Lincoln’s  bitterest  enemies.  The  cine  to  his 
earlier  course  was  an  honest  conviction  that  Lincoln, 
though  well-intentioned,  was  weak."  Was  this  the  nemesis 
of  Lincoln’s  pliability  in  action  during  the  first  stage  of 
his  Presidency?  It  may  be.  The  firm  inner  Lincoln,  the 
unyielding  thinker  of  the  first  message,  was  not  appreciated 
even  by  well-meaning  men  like  Trumbull.  The  inner  and 
the  outer  Lincoln  were  still  disconnected.  And  the  outer, 
in  his  caution,  in  his  willingness  to  be  instructed,  in  his  oppo- 
sition to  extreme  measures,  made  the  inevitable  impression 
that  temperance  makes  upon  fury,  caution  upon  rashness. 

Throughout  the  late  summer,  Lincoln  was  the  target  of 
many  attacks,  chiefly  from  the  Abolitionists.  Somehow, 
in  the  previous  spring,  they  had  got  it  into  their  heads  that 
at  heart  he  was  one  of  them,  that  he  waited  only  for  a vic- 
tory to  declare  the  war  a crusade  of  abolition.®  When  the 
crisis  passed  and  a Democrat  was  put  at  the  head  of  the 
army,  while  Fremont  was  left  in  the  relative  obscurity  of 
St.  Louis,  Abolition  bitterness  became  voluble.  The  Crit- 
tenden Resolution  was  scoffed  at  as  an  ‘hll-timed  revival 
of  the  policy  of  conciliation.”  Threats  against  the  Ad- 
ministration revived,  taking  the  old  form  of  demands  for 
a wholly  new  Cabinet.  The  keener-sighted  Abolitionists 
had  been  alarmed  by  the  first  message,  by  what  seemed  to 
them  its  ominous  silence  as  to  slavery.  Late  in  July,  Emer- 
son said  in  conversation,  "Tf  the  Union  is  incapable  of 
securing  universal  freedom,  its  disruption  were  as  the 
breaking  up  of  a frog-pond.”^  An  outcry  was  raised  be- 
cause Federal  generals  did  not  declare  free  all  the  slaves 
who  in  any  way  came  into  their  hands.  The  Abolitionists 
found  no  solace  in  the  First  Confiscation  Act  which  pro- 
vided that  an  owner  should  lose  his  claim  to  a slave,  had 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


195 


the  slave  been  used  to  assist  the  Confederate  government. 
They  w^ere  enraged  by  an  order,  early  in  August,  inform- 
ing generals  that  it  was  the  President’s  desire  “that  all 
existing  rights  in  all  the  States  be  fully  respected  and  main- 
tained; in  cases  of  fugitives  from  the  loyal  Slave  States, 
the  enforcement  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  by  the  ordinary 
forms  of  judicial  proceedings  must  be  respected  by  the 
military  authorities;  in  the  disloyal  States  the  Confiscation 
Act  of  Congress  must  be  your  guide.”^®  Especially,  the 
Abolitionists  were  angered  because  of  Lincoln’s  care  for 
the  forms  of  law  in  those  Slave  States  that  had  not  seceded. 
They  vented  their  bitterness  in  a famous  sneer — “The 
President  would  like  to  have  God  on  his  side,  but  he  must 
have  Kentucky.” 

A new  temper  was  forming  throughout  the  land.  It 
was  not  merely  the  old  Abolitionism.  It  was  a blend  of 
all  those  elements  of  violent  feeling  which  war  inevitably 
releases;  it  was  the  concentration  of  all  these  elements  on 
the  issue  of  Abolition  as  upon  a terrible  weapon ; it  was  the 
resurrection  of  that  primitive  blood-lust  which  lies  dormant 
in  every  peaceful  nation  like  a sleeping  beast.  This  dread- 
ful power  rose  out  of  its  sleep  and  confronted,  menacing, 
the  statesman  who  of  all  our  statesmen  was  most  keenly 
aware  of  its  evil,  most  determined  to  put  it  under  or  to 
perish  in  the  attempt.  With  its  appearance,  the  deepest 
of  all  the  issues  involved,  according  to  Lincoln’s  way  of 
thinking,  was  brought  to  a head.  Was  the  Republic  to 
issue  from  the  war  a worthy  or  an  unworthy  nation?  That 
was  pretty  definitely  a question  of  whether  Abraham  Lin- 
coln or,  say,  Zachary  Chandler,  was  to  control  its  policy. 

A vain,  weak  man  precipitated  the  inevitable  struggle 
between  these  two.  Fremont  had  been  flattered  to  the 


196 


LINCOLN 


skies.  He  conceived  himself  a genius.  He  was  persuaded 
that  the  party  of  the  new  temper,  the  men  who  may 
fairly  be  called  the  Vindictives,  were  lords  of  the 
ascendent.  He  mistook  their  volubility  for  the  voice  of 
the  nation.  He  determined  to  defy  Lincoln.  He  issued 
a proclamation  freeing  the  slaves  of  all  who  had  “taken  an 
active  part”  with  the  enemies  of  the  United  States  in  the 
field.  He  set  up  a “bureau  of  abolition.” 

Lincoln  first  heard  of  Fremont’s  proclamation  through 
the  newspapers.  His  instant  action  was  taken  in  his  own 
extraordinarily  gentle  way.  “I  think  there  is  great  dan- 
ger,” he  wrote,  “that  the  closing  paragraph  (of  Fremont’s 
proclamation)  in  relation  to.  the  confiscation  of  property 
and  the  liberating  of  slaves  of  traitorous  owners,  will 
alarm  our  Southern  Union  friends  and  turn  them  against 
us;  perhaps  ruin  our  rather  fair  prospect  for  Kentucky. 
Allow  me,  therefore,  to  ask  that  you  will,  as  of  your  own 
motion,  modify  that  paragraph  so  as  to  conform”  to  the 
Confiscation  Act.  He  added,  “This  letter  is  written  in  the 
spirit  of  caution,  not  of  censure.”^^ 

Fremont  was  not  the  man  to  understand  instruction  of 
this  sort.  He  would  make  no  compromise  with  the  Presi- 
dent. If  Lincoln  wished  to  go  over  his  head  and  rescind 
his  order  let  him  do  so — and  take  the  consequences. 
Lincoln  quietly  did  so.  His  battle  with  the  Vindictives 
was  on.  For  a moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  destroyed 
his  cause.  So  loud  was  the  outcry  of  the  voluble  people, 
that  any  one  might  have  been  excused  momentarily  for 
thinking  that  all  the  North  had  risen  against  him.  Great 
meetings  of  protest  were  held.  Eminent  men — even  such 
fine  natures  as  Bryant — condemned  his  course. 

In  the  wake  of  the  incident,  when  it  was  impossible  to 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


197 


say  how  significant  the  outcry  really  was,  Chandler,  who 
was  staunch  for  Fremont,  began  his  active  interference 
with  the  management  of  the  army.  McClellan  had  in- 
sisted on  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  drill  the  new  three- 
year  recruits  who  were  pouring  into  Washington.  He  did 
not  propose  to  repeat  the  experience  of  General  McDowell. 
On  the  other  hand.  Chandler  was  bent  on  forcing  him 
into  action.  He,  Wade  and  Trumbull  combined,  attempt- 
ing to  bring  things  to  pass  in  a way  to  suit  themselves 
and  their  faction.  To  these  men  and  their  followers,  clever 
young  Hay  gave  the  apt  name  of  ‘‘The  Jacobin  Club.” 

They  began  their  campaign  by  their  second  visit  to  the 
army.  Wade  was  their  chief  spokesman.  He  urged  Mc- 
Clellan to  advance  at  once;  to  risk  an  unsuccessful  battle 
rather  than  continue  to  stand  still;  the  country  wanted 
something  done;  a defeat  could  easily  be  repaired  by  the 
swarming  recruits. 

This  callous  attitude  got  no  response  from  the  Com- 
manding General.  The  three  Senators  turned  upon  Lincoln. 
“This  evening,”  writes  Hay  in  his  diary  on  October 
twenty-sixth,  “the  Jacobin  Club  represented  by  Trumbull, 
Chandler  and  Wade,  came  out  to  worry  the  Administra- 
tion into  a battle.  The  agitation  of  the  summer  is  to  be 
renewed.  The  President  defended  McClellan’s  deliberate- 
ness.” The  next  night  “we  went  over  to  Seward’s  and 
found  Chandler  and  Wade  there.”  They  repeated  their 
reckless  talk;  a battle  must  be  fought;  defeat  would  be 
no  worse  than  delay;  “and  a great  deal  more  trash.” 

But  Lincoln  was  not  to  be  moved.  He  and  Hay  called 
upon  McClellan.  The  President  deprecated  this  new 
manifestation  of  popular  impatience,  but  said  it  was  a real- 
ity and  should  be  taken  into  account.  “At  the  same  time. 


198 


LINCOLN 


General,”  said  he,  “you  must  not  fight  until  you  are 

ready.”i3 

At  this  moment  of  extreme  tension  occurred  the 
famous  incident  of  the  seizure  of  the  Confederate  envoys. 
Mason  and  Slidell,  who  were  passengers  on  the  British 
merchant  ship,  the  Trent.  These  men  had  run  the  block- 
ade which  had  now  drawn  its  strangling  line  along  the 
whole  coast  of  the  Confederacy;  they  had  boarded  the 
Trent  at  Havana,  and  under  the  law  of  nations  were  safe 
from  capture.  But  Captain  Wilkes  of  the  United  States 
Navy,  more  zealous  than  discreet,  overhauled  the  Trent 
and  took  off  the  two  Confederates.  Every  thoughtless 
Northerner  went  wild  with  joy.  At  last  the  government 
had  done  something.  Even  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  so 
far  forgot  himself  as  to  telegraph  to  Wilkes  “Congratulate 
you  on  the  great  public  service  you  have  rendered  in  the 
capture  of  the  rebel  emissaries.”^^  Chandler  promptly 
applauded  the  seizure  and  when  it  was  suggested  that 
perhaps  the  envoys  should  be  released  he  at  once  arrayed 
himself  in  opposition.^^  With  the  truculent  Jacobins  ready 
to  close  battle  should  the  government  do  its  duty,  with  the 
country  still  echoing  to  cheers  for  Fremont  and  hisses  for 
the  President,  with  nothing  to  his  credit  in  the  way  of 
military  success,  Lincoln  faced  a crisis.  He  was  carried 
through  the  crisis  by  two  strong  men.  Sumner,  head  and 
front  of  Abolitionism  but  also  a great  lawyer,  came  at 
once  to  his  assistance.  And  what  could  a thinking  Abo- 
litionist say  after  that!  Seward  skilfully  saved  the  face 
of  the  government  by  his  management  of  the  negotiation. 
The  envoys  were  released  and  sent  to  England. 

It  was  the  only  thing  to  do,  but  Chandler  and  all  his 
sort  had  opposed  it.  The  Abolition  fury  against  the  gov- 


THE  JACOBIN  CLUB 


199 


ernment  was  at  fever  heat.  Wendell  Phillips  in  a speech 
at  New  York  denounced  the  Administration  as  having  no 
definite  purpose  in  the  war,  and  was  interrupted  by  frantic 
cheers  for  Fremont.  McQellan,  patiently  drilling  his 
army,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jacobins,  doing  nothing. 
Congress  had  assembled.  There  was  every  sign  that 
troubled  waters  lay  just  ahead. 


XIX 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS 

The  temper  animating  Hay’s  ‘‘Jacobins”  formed  a new 
and  really  formidable  danger  which  menaced  Lincoln  at  the 
close  of  1 86 1.  But  had  he  been  anything  of  an  oppor- 
tunist, it  would  have  offered  him  an  unrivaled  opportunity. 
For  a leader  who  sought  personal  power,  this  raging  sav- 
agery, with  its  triple  alliance  of  an  organized  political  ma- 
chine, a devoted  fanaticism,  and  the  war  fury,  was  a chance 
in  ten  thousand.  It  led  to  his  door  the  steed  of  militarism, 
shod  and  bridled,  champing  upon  the  bit,  and  invited  him 
to  leap  into  the  saddle.  Ten  words  of  acquiescence  in  the 
program  of  the  Jacobins,  and  the  dreaded  role  of  the  man 
on  horseback  was  his  to  command. 

The  fallacy  that  politics  are  primarily  intellectual  de- 
cisions upon  stated  issues,  the  going  forth  of  the  popular 
mind  to  decide  between  programs  presented  to  it  by  cir- 
cumstances, receives  a brilliant  refutation  in  the  course  of 
the  powerful  minority  that  was  concentrating  around  the 
three  great  “Jacobins.”  The  subjective  side  of  politics, 
also  the  temperamental  side,  here  found  expression.  State- 
craft is  an  art;  creative  statesmen  are  like  other  artists. 
Just  as  the  painter  or  the  poet,  seizing  upon  old  subjects, 
uses  them  as  outlets  for  his  particular  temper,  his  particular 
emotion,  and  as  the  temper,  the  emotion  are  what  counts 
in  his  work,  so  with  statesmen,  with  Lincoln  on  the  one 
hand,  with  Chandler  at  the  opposite  extreme. 

200 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  201 


The  Jacobins  stood  first  of  all  for  the  sudden  reaction 
of  bold  fierce  natures  from  a long  political  repression. 
They  had  fought  their  way  to  leadership  as  captains  of  an 
opposition.  They  were  artists  who  had  been  denied  an 
opportunity  of  expression.  By  a sudden  turn  of  fortune,  it 
had  seemed  to  come  within  their  grasp.  Temperamentally 
they  were  fighters.  Battle  for  them  was  an  end  in  itself. 
The  thought  of  conquest  sang  to  them  like  the  morning 
stars.  Had  they  been  literary  men,  their  favorite  poetry 
would  have  been  the  sacking  of  Troy  town.  Furthermore, 
they  were  intensely  provincial.  Undoubted  as  was  their 
courage,  they  had  also  the  valor  of  ignorance.  They  had 
the  provincial’s  disdain  for  the  other  side  of  the  horizon, 
his  unbounded  confidence  in  his  ability  to  whip  all  creation. 
Chandler,  scornfully  brushing  aside  a possible  foreign  war, 
typified  their  mood. 

And  in  quiet  veto  of  all  their  hopes  rose  against  them 
the  apparently  easy-going,  the  smiling,  story-telling,  unre- 
vengeful, new  man  at  the  White  House.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  that  they  spent  the  summer  laboring  to  build  up 
a party  against  him,  that  they  turned  eagerly  to  the  new 
session  of  Congress,  hoping  to  consolidate  a faction  opposed 
to  Lincoln. 

His  second  message,^  though  without  a word  of  obvious 
defiance,  set  him  squarely  against  them  on  all  their  vital 
contentions.  The  winter  of  1861-1862  is  the  strangest 
period  of  Lincoln’s  career.  Although  the  two  phases  of 
him,  the  outer  and  the  inner,  were,  in  point  of  fact,  moving 
rapidly  toward  their  point  of  fusion,  apparently  they  were 
further  away  than  ever  before.  Outwardly,  his  most  con- 
spicuous vacillations  were  in  this  winter  and  in  the  follow- 
ing spring.  Never  before  or  after  did  he  allow  himself  to 


202 


LINCOLN 


be  overshadowed  so  darkly  by  his  advisers  in  all  the  con- 
cerns of  action.  In  amazing  contrast,  in  all  the  concerns 
of  thought,  he  was  never  more  entirely  himself.  The  sec- 
ond message,  prepared  when  the  country  rang  with  what 
seemed  to  be  a general  frenzy  against  him,  did  not  give 
ground  one  inch.  This  was  all  the  more  notable  because 
his  Secretary  of  War  had  tried  to  force  his  hand.  Cameron 
had  the  reputation  of  being  about  the  most  astute  politician 
in  America.  Few  people  attributed  to  him  the  embarrass- 
ment of  principles.  And  Cameron,  in  the  late  autumn,  after 
closely  observing  the  drift  of  things,  determined  that  Fre- 
mont had  hit  it  off  correctly,  that  the  crafty  thing  to  do 
was  to  come  out  for  Abolition  as  a war  policy.  In  a word, 
he  decided  to  go  over  to  the  Jacobins.  He  put  into  his 
annual  report  a recommendation  of  Chandler’s  plan  for 
organizing  an  army  of  freed  slaves  and  sending  it  against 
the  Confederacy.  Advanced  copies  of  this  report  had  been 
sent  to  the  press  before  Lincoln  knew  of  it.  He  per- 
emptorily ordered  their  recall,  and  the  exclusion  of  this 
suggestion  from  the  text  of  the  report.^ 

On  the  heels  of  this  refusal  to  concede  to  Chandler  one 
of  his  cherished  schemes,  the  second  message  was  sent  to 
Congress.  The  watchful  and  exasperated  Jacobins  found 
abundant  offense  in  its  omissions.  On  the  whole  great  sub- 
ject of  possible  emancipation  it  was  blankly  silent.  The 
nearest  it  came  to  this  subject  was  one  suggestion  which 
applied  only  to  those  captured  slaves  who  had  been  forfeited 
by  the  disloyal  owners  through  being  employed  to  assist  the 
Confederate  government.  Lincoln  advised  that  after  re- 
ceiving their  freedom  they  be  sent  out  of  the  country  and 
colonized  ‘'at  some  place,  or  places,  in  a climate  congenial 
to  them.”  Beyond  this  there  was  nothing  bearing  on  the 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  203 


slavery  question  except  the  admonition — so  unsatisfactory 
to  Chandler  and  all  his  sort — that  while  “the  Union  must 
be  preserved,  and  hence  all  indispensable  means  must  be 
employed,”  Congress  should  “not  be  in  haste  to  determine 
that  radical  and  extreme  measures,  which  may  reach  the 
loyal  as  well  as  the  disloyal,  are  indispensable.” 

Lincoln  was  entirely  clear  in  his  ovm  mind  that  there 
was  but  one  way  to  head  off  the  passion  of  destruction  that 
was  rioting  in  the  Jacobin  temper.  “In  considering  the 
policy  to  be  adopted  in  suppressing  the  insurrection,  I have 
been  anxious  and  careful  that  the  inevitable  conflict  for  this 
purpose  shall  not  degenerate  into  a violent  and  remorseless 
revolutionary  struggle.  I have,  therefore,  in  every  case, 
thought  it  proper  to  keep  the  integrity  of  the  Union  promi- 
nent as  the  primary  object  of  the  contest  on  our  part, 
leaving  all  questions  which  are  not  of  vital  military  im- 
portance to  the  more  deliberate  action  of  the  Legislature.” 
He  persisted  in  regarding  the  war  as  an  insurrection  of  the 
“disloyal  portion  of  the  American  people,”  not  as  an  external 
struggle  between  the  North  and  the  South. 

Finally,  the  culmination  of  the  message  was  a long  elab- 
orate argument  upon  the  significance  of  the  war  to  the 
working  classes.  His  aim  was  to  show  that  the  whole  trend 
of  the  Confederate  movement  was  toward  a conclusion 
which  would  “place  capital  on  an  equal  footing  with,  if  not 
above,  labor,  in  the  structure  of  government.”  Thus,  as 
so  often  before,  he  insisted  on  his  own  view  of  the  signifi- 
cance in  American  politics  of  all  issues  involving  slavery — 
their  bearing  on  the  condition  of  the  free  laborer.  In  a 
very  striking  passage,  often  overlooked,  he  ranked  himself 
once  more,  as  first  of  all,  a statesman  of  “the  people,”  in 
the  limited  class  sense  of  the  term.  “Labor  is  prior  to  and 


204 


LINCOLN 


mdependent  of  capital.  Capital  is  only  the  fruit  of  labor 
and  could  never  have  existed  if  labor  had  not  first  existed. 
Labor  is  the  superior  of  capital,  and  deserves  much  ihe 
higher  consideration.”  But  so  far  is  he  from  any  revolu- 
tionary purpose,  that  he  adds  immediately,  “Capital  has  its 
rights  which  are  as  worthy  of  protection  as  any  other 
rights.”  His  crowning  vision  is  not  communism.  His 
ideal  world  is  one  of  universal  opportunity,  with  labor  freed 
of  every  hindrance,  with  all  its  deserving  members  acquir- 
ing more  and  more  of  the  benefits  of  property. 

Such  a message  had  no  consolation  for  Chandler,  Wade, 
or,  as  he  then  was,  for  Trumbull.  They  looked  about  for 
a way  to  retaliate.  And  now  two  things  became  plain. 
That  “agitation  of  the  summer”  to  which  Hay  refers,  had 
borne  fruit,  but  not  enough  fruit.  Many  members  of  Con- 
gress who  had  been  swept  along  by  the  President’s  policy 
in  July  had  been  won  over  in  the  reaction  against  him  and 
were  ripe  for  manipulation;  but  it  was  not  yet  certain  that 
they  held  the  balance  of  power  in  Congress.  To  lock 
horns  with  the  Administration,  in  December,  would  have 
been  so  rash  a move  that  even  such  bold  men  as  Chandler 
and  Wade  avoided  it.  Instead,  they  devised  an  astute  plan 
of  campaign.  Trumbull  was  Chairman  of  the  Senate 
Judiciary  Committee,  and  in  that  important  position  would 
bide  his  time  to  bring  pressure  to  bear  on  the  President 
through  his  influence  upon  legislation.  Wade  and  Chandler 
would  go  in  for  propaganda.  But  they  would  do  so  in  dis- 
guise. What  more  natural  than  that  Congress  should  take 
an  active  interest  in  the  army,  should  wish  to  do  all  in  its 
power  to  “assist”  the  President  in  rendering  the  army 
efficient.  For  that  purpose  it  was  proposed  to  establish  a 
joint  committee  of  the  two  Houses  having  no  function  but 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  205 


to  look  into  military  needs  and  report  to  Congress.  The 
proposal  was  at  once  accepted  and  its  crafty  backers  secured 
a committee  dominated  entirely  by  themselves.  Chandler 
was  a member;  Wade  became  Chairman.^  This  Committee 
on  the  Conduct  of  the  War  became  at  once  an  inquisition. 
Though  armed  with  no  weapon  but  publicity,  its  close  con- 
nection with  congressional  intrigue,  its  hostility  to  the 
President,  the  dramatic  effect  of  any  revelations  it  chose  to 
make  or  any  charges  it  chose  to  bring,  clothed  it  indirectly 
with  immense  power.  Its  inner  purpose  may  be  stated  in 
the  words  of  one  of  its  members,  ‘‘A  more  vigorous  prose- 
cution of  the  war  and  less  tenderness  toward  slavery.”^ 
Its  mode  of  procedure  was  in  constant  interrogation  of 
generals,  in  frequent  advice  to  the  President,  and  on  occasion 
in  threatening  to  rouse  Congress  against  him.^  A session 
of  the  Committee  was  likely  to  be  followed  by  a call  on  the 
President  of  either  Chandler  or  Wade. 

The  Committee  began  immediately  summoning  generals 
before  it  to  explain  what  the  army  was  doing.  And  every 
general  was  made  to  understand  that  what  the  Committee 
wanted,  what  Congress  wanted,  what  the  country  wanted, 
was  an  advance^ — ‘‘something  doing”  as  soon  as  possible. 

And  now  appeared  another  characteristic  of  the  mood 
of  these  furious  men.  They  had  become  suspicious,  hon- 
estly suspicious.  This  suspiciousness  grew  with  their 
power  and  was  rendered  frantic  by  being  crossed.  Who- 
ever disagreed  with  them  was  instantly  an  object  of  distrust; 
any  plan  that  contradicted  their  views  was  at  once  an  evi- 
dence of  treason. 

The  earliest  display  of  this  eagerness  to  see  traitors  in 
every  bush  concerned  a skirmish  that  took  place  at  Ball’s 
Bluff  in  Virginia.  It  was  badly  managed  and  the  Federal 


2o6 


LINCOLN 


loss,  proportionately,  was  large.  The  officer  held  respon- 
sible was  General  Stone.  Unfortunately  for  him,  he  was 
particularly  obnoxious  to  the  Abolitionists  ; he  had  returned 
fugitive  slaves;  and  when  objection  was  made  by  such 
powerful  Abolitionists  as  Governor  Andrew  of  Massachu- 
setts, Stone  gave  reign  to  a sharp  tongue.  In  the  early 
days  of  the  session,  Roscoe  Conkling  told  the  story  of  Ball’s 
Bluff  for  the  benefit  of  Congress  in  a brilliant,  harrowing 
speech.  In  a flash  the  rumor  spread  that  the  dead  at  Ball’s 
Bluff  were  killed  by  design,  that  Stone  was  a traitor,  that — 
perhaps ! — who  could  say  ? — there  were  bigger  traitors 
higher  up.  Stone  w^as  summoned  before  the  Inquisition.® 

While  Stone  was  on  the  rack,  metaphorically,  while  the 
Committee  was  showing  him  every  brutality  in  its  power, 
refusing  to  acquaint  him  with  the  evidence  against  him, 
intimating  that  they  were  able  to  convict  him  of  treason — 
between  the  fifth  and  the  eleventh  of  January — a crisis  arose 
in  the  War  Office.  Cameron  had  failed  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  the  rising  powers.  Old  political  enemies  in  Con- 
gress were  implacable.  Scandals  in  his  Department  gave 
rise  to  sweeping  charges  of  peculation. 

There  is  scarcely  another  moment  when  Lincoln’s 
power  was  so  precarious.  In  one  respect,  in  their  impa- 
tience, the  Committee  reflected  faithfully  the  country  at 
large.  And  by  the  irony  of  fate  McClellan  at  this  crucial 
hour,  had  fallen  ill.  After  waiting  for  his  recovery  during 
several  weeks,  Lincoln  ventured  with  much  hesitation  to 
call  a conference  of  generals.'^  They  were  sitting  during  the 
Stone  investigation,  producing  no  result  except  a distrac- 
tion in  councils,  devising  plans  that  were  thrown  over  the 
moment  the  Commanding  General  arose  from  his  bed.  A 
vote  in  Congress  a few  days  previous  had  amounted  to  a 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  207 


censure  of  the  Administration.  It  was  taken  upon  the  Crit- 
tenden Resolution  which  had  been  introduced  a second  time. 
Of  those  who  had  voted  for  it  in  July,  so  many  now  aban- 
doned the  Administration  that  this  resolution,  the  clear 
embodiment  of  Lincoln’s  policy,  was  laid  on  the  table, 
seventy-one  to  sixty-five.^  Lincoln’s  hope  for  an  all-parties 
government  was  receiving  little  encouragement.  The  Demo- 
crats were  breaking  into  factions,  while  the  control  of  their 
party  organization  was  falling  into  the  hands  of  a group 
of  inferior  politicians  who  were  content  to  ‘'play  politics” 
in  the  most  unscrupulous  fashion.  Both  the  Secretary  of 
War  and  the  Secretary  of  State  had  authorized  arbitrary 
arrests.  Men  in  New  York  and  New  England  had  been 
thrown  into  prison.  The  privilege  of  the  writ  of  habeas 
corpus  had  been  denied  them  on  the  mere  belief  of  the  gov- 
ernment that  they  were  conspiring  with  its  enemies.  Be- 
cause of  these  arrests,  sharp  criticism  was  being  aimed  at 
the  Administration  both  within  and  without  Congress. 

For  all  these  reasons,  the  government  at  Washington 
appeared  to  be  tottering.  Desperate  remedies  seemed  im- 
perative. Lincoln  decided  to  make  every  concession  he 
could  make  without  letting  go  his  central  purpose.  First, 
he  threw  over  Cameron ; he  compelled  him  to  resign  though 
he  saved  his  face  by  appointing  him  minister  to  Russia. 
But  who  was  to  take  his  place?  At  this  critical  moment, 
the  choice  of  a new  Secretary  of  War  was  a political  prob- 
lem of  exacting  difficulty.  Just  why  Lincoln  chose  a sul- 
len, dictatorial  lawyer  whose  experience  in  no  way  prepared 
him  for  the  office,  has  never  been  disclosed.  Two  facts 
appear  to  explain  it.  Edwin  M.  Stanton  was  tempera- 
mentally just  the  man  to  become  a good  brother  to 
Chandler  and  Wade.  Both  of  them  urged  him  upon  Lincoln 


2o8 


LINCOLN 


as  successor  to  Cameron.^  Furthermore,  Stanton  hitherto 
had  been  a Democrat.  His  services  in  Buchanan’s  Cabinet 
as  Attorney-General  had  made  him  a national  figure.  Who 
else  linked  the  Democrats  and  the  Jacobins? 

However,  for  almost  any  one  but  Lincoln,  there  was  an 
objection  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  overcome.  No 
one  has  ever  charged  Stanton  with  politeness.  A gloomy 
excitable  man,  of  uncertain  health,  temperamentally  an  over- 
worker, chronically  apprehensive,  utterly  without  the  saving 
grace  of  humor,  he  was  capable  of  insufferable  rudeness — 
one  reason,  perhaps,  why  Chandler  liked  him.  He  and 
Lincoln  had  met  but  once.  As  associate  council  in  a case  at 
Cincinnati,  three  years  before,  Lincoln  had  been  treated  so 
contemptuously  by  Stanton  that  he  had  returned  home  in 
pained  humiliation.  Since  his  inauguration,  Stanton  had 
been  one  of  his  most  vituperative  critics.  Was  this  insolent 
scold  to  be  invited  into  the  Cabinet?  Had  not  Lincoln  at 
this  juncture  been  in  the  full  tide  of  selflessness,  surely 
some  compromise  would  have  been  made  with  the  Com- 
mittee, a secretary  found  less  offensive  personally  to  the 
President.  Lincoln  disregarded  the  personal  consideration. 
The  candidate  of  Chandler  and  Wade  became  secretary.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  an  intimate  alliance  between  the  Com- 
mittee and  the  War  Office.  Lincoln  had  laid  up  for  himself 
much  trouble  that  he  did  not  foresee. 

The  day  the  new  Secretary  took  office,  he  received  from 
the  Committee  a report  upon  General  Stone.  Subse- 
quently, in  the  Senate,  Wade  denied  that  the  Committee 
had  advised  the  arrest  of  Stone. Doubtless  the  statement 
was  techincally  correct.  Nevertheless,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  inquisitors  were  wholly  in  sympathy  with  the  Sec- 
retary when,  shortly  afterward.  Stone  was  seized  upon 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  209 


Stanton’s  order,  conveyed  to  a fortress  and  imprisoned 
without  trial. 

This  was  the  Dreyfus  case  of  the  Civil  War.  Stone 
was  never  tried  and  never  vindicated.  He  was  eventually 
released  upon  parole  and  after  many  tantalizing  disappoint- 
ments  permitted  to  rejoin  the  army.  What  gives  the  event 
significance  is  its  evidence  of  the  power,  at  that  moment,  of 
the  Committee,  and  of  the  relative  weakness  of  the  Presi- 
dent. Lincoln’s  eagerness  to  protect  condemned  soldiers 
survives  in  many  anecdotes.  Hay  confides  to  his  diary  that 
he  was  sometimes  “amused  at  the  eagerness  with  which  the 
President  caught  at  any  fact  which  would  justify”  clem- 
ency. And  yet,  when  Stanton  informed  him  of  the  arrest 
of  Stone,  he  gloomily  acquiesced.  “I  hope  you  have  good 
reasons  for  it,”  he  said.  Later  he  admitted  that  he  knew 
very  little  about  the  case.  But  he  did  not  order  Stone’s 
release. 

Lincoln  had  his  own  form  of  ruthlessness.  The  selfless 
man,  by  dealing  with  others  in  the  same  extraordinary  way 
in  which  he  deals  with  himself,  may  easily  under  the  pres- 
sure of  extreme  conditions  become  impersonal  in  his  think- 
ing upon  duty.  The  morality  of  such  a state  of  mind  is  a 
question  for  the  philosopher.  The  historian  must  content 
himself  with  pointing  out  the  only  condition  that  redeems 
it — if  anything  redeems  it.  The  leader  who  thinks  imper- 
sonally about  others  and  personally  about  himself — what 
need  among  civilized  people  to  characterize  him?  Borgia, 
Louis  XIV,  Napoleon.  If  we  are  ever  to  pardon  imper- 
sonal thinking  it  is  only  in  the  cases  of  men  who  begin  by 
effacing  themselves.  The  Lincoln  who  accepted  Stanton  as 
a Cabinet  officer,  who  was  always  more  or  less  overshadowed 
by  the  belief  that  in  saving  the  government  he  was  himself 


210 


LINCOLN 


to  perish,  is  explicable,  at  least,  when  individual  men  became 
for  him,  as  at  times  they  did,  impersonal  factors  in  a terrible 
dream. 

There  are  other  considerations  in  the  attempt  to  give  a 
moral  value  to  his  failure  to  interfere  in  behalf  of  Stone. 
The  first  four  months  of  1862  are  not  only  his  feeblest 
period  as  a ruler,  the  period  when  he  was  barely  able  to 
hold  his  own,  but  also  the  period  when  he  was  least  definite 
as  a personality,  when  his  courage  and  his  vitality  seemed 
ebbing  tides.  Again,  his  spirit  was  in  eclipse.  Singularly 
enough,  this  was  the  darkness  before  the  dawn.  June  of 
1862  saw  the  emergence,  with  a suddenness  difficult  to 
explain,  of  the  historic  Lincoln.  But  in  January  of  that 
year  he  was  facing  downward  into  the  mystery  of  his  last 
eclipse.  All  the  dark  places  of  his  heredity  must  be  searched 
for  clues  to  this  strange  experience.  There  are  moments, 
especially  under  strain  of  a personal  bereavement  that  fell 
upon  him  in  February,  when  his  will  seemed  scarcely  a 
reality;  when,  as  a directing  force  he  may  be  said  momen- 
tarily to  have  vanished ; when  he  is  hardly  more  than  a ghost 
among  his  advisers.  The  far-off  existence  of  weak  old 
Thomas  cast  its  parting  shadow  across  his  son’s  career. 

However,  even  our  Dreyfus  case  drew  from  Lincoln 
another  display  of  that  settled  conviction  of  his  that  part 
of  his  function  was  to  be  scapegoat.  ‘T  serve,”  which  in  a 
way  might  be  taken  as  his  motto  always,  was  peculiarly 
his  motto,  and  likewise  his  redemption,  in  this  period  of 
his  weakness.  The  enemies  of  the  Committee  in  Congress 
took  the  matter  up  and  denounced  Stanton.  Thereupon, 
Wade  flamed  forth,  criticizing  Lincoln  for  his  leniency, 
venting  his  fury  on  all  those  who  were  tender  of  their 
enemies,  storming  that  ‘‘mercy  to  traitors  is  cruelty  to  loyal 


Lincoln  and  Tad 


THE  JACOBINS  BECOME  INQUISITORS  21 1 


men.”^^  Lincoln  replied  neither  to  Wade  nor  to  his  antag- 
onists; but,  without  explaining  the  case,  without  a word 
upon  the  relation  to  it  of  the  Secretary  and  the  Committee, 
he  informed  the  Senate  that  the  President  was  alone  respon- 
sible for  the  arrest  and  imprisonment  of  General  Stone. 


XX 


IS  CONGRESS  THE  PRESIDENT'S  MASTER? 

The  period  of  Lincoln’s  last  eclipse  is  a period  of  rela- 
tive silence.  But  his  mind  was  not  inactive.  He  did  not 
cease  thinking  upon  the  deep  theoretical  distinctions  that 
were  separating  him  by  a steadily  widening  chasm  from  the 
most  powerful  faction  in  Congress.  In  fact,  his  mental 
powers  were,  if  anything,  more  keen  than  ever  before. 
Probably,  it  was  the  very  clearness  of  the  mental  vision  that 
enfeebled  him  when  it  came  to  action.  He  saw  his  difficuh 
ties  with  such  crushing  certainty.  During  this  trying  period 
there  is  in  him  something  of  Hamlet. 

The  reaction  to  his  ideas,  to  what  is  either  expressed  or 
implied,  in  the  first  and  second  messages,  was  prompt  to 
appear.  The  Jacobins  did  not  confine  their  activities  within 
the  scope  of  the  terrible  Committee.  Wade  and  Chandler 
worked  assiduously  undermining  his  strength  in  Congress. 
Trumbull,  though  always  less  extreme  than  they,  was  still 
the  victim  of  his  delusion  that  Lincoln  was  a poor  creature, 
that  the  only  way  to  save  the  country  was  to  go  along  with 
those  grim  men  of  strength  who  dominated  the  Commit- 
tee. In  January,  a formidable  addition  appeared  in  the 
ranks  of  Lincoln’s  opponents.  Thaddeus  Stevens  made  a 
speech  in  the  House  that  marks  a chapter.  It  brought  to 
a head  a cloud  of  floating  opposition  and  clearly  defined 
an  issue  involving  the  central  proposition  in  Lincoln’s  theory 
of  the  government. 


212 


IS  CONGRESS  THE  MASTER? 


213 


The  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  in  its  detailed 
provisions,  is  designed  chiefly  to  meet  the  exigencies  of 
peace.  With  regard  to  the  abnormal  conditions  of  war,  it 
is  relatively  silent.  Certain  ‘'war  powers”  are  recognized 
but  not  clearly  defined;  nor  is  it  made  perfectly  plain  what 
branch  of  the  government  possesses  them.  The  machinery 
for  their  execution  is  assumed  but  not  described — as  when 
the  Constitution  provides  that  the  privileges  of  the  writ  of 
habeas  corpus  are  to  be  suspended  only  in  time  of  war, 
but  does  not  specify  by  whom,  or  in  what  way,  the  sus- 
pension is  to  be  effected.  Are  those  undefined  “war 
powers,”  which  are  the  most  sovereign  functions  of  our 
government,  vested  in  Congress  or  in  the  President?  Lin- 
coln, from  the  moment  he  defined  his  policy,  held  tena- 
ciously to  the  theory  that  all  these  extraordinary  powers 
are  vested  in  the  President.  By  implication,  at  least,  this 
idea  is  in  the  first  message.  Throughout  tlie  latter  part 
of  1861,  he  put  the  theory  into  practice.  Whatever  seemed 
to  him  necessary  in  a state  of  war,  he  did,  even  to  the 
arresting  of  suspected  persons,  refusing  them  the  privilege 
of  the  habeas  corpus,  and  retaining  them  in  prison  without 
trial.  During  1861,  he  left  the  exercise  of  this  sovereign 
authority  to  the  discretion  of  the  two  Secretaries  of  War 
and  of  State. 

Naturally,  the  Abolitionists,  the  Jacobins,  the  Demo- 
cratic machine,  conscientious  believers  in  the  congressional 
theory  of  the  government,  every  one  who  for  any  reason, 
wanted  to  hit  the  Administration,  united  in  a chorus  of 
wrath  over  arbitrary  arrests.  The  greatest  orator  of  the 
time,  Wendell  Phillips,  the  final  voice  of  Abolition,  flayed 
the  government  in  public  speeches  for  reducing  America  to 
an  absolute  despotism.  Trumbull  introduced  into  the 


214 


LINCOLN 


Senate  a resolution  calling  upon  the  President  for  a state- 
ment of  the  facts  as  to  what  he  had  actually  doneP 

But  the  subject  of  arrests  was  but  the  prelude  to  the 
play.  The  real  issue  was  the  theory  of  the  government. 
Where  in  last  analysis  does  the  Constitution  place  the  ulti- 
mate powers  of  sovereignty,  the  war  powers  ? In  Congress 
or  in  the  President?  Therefore,  in  concrete  terms,  is  Con- 
gress the  President’s  master,  or  is  it  only  one  branch  of 
the  government  with  a definite  but  limited  activity  of  its 
own,  without  that  sweeping  sovereign  authority  which  in 
course  of  time  has  been  acquired  by  its  parent  body,  the 
Parliament  of  Great  Britain? 

On  this  point  Lincoln  never  wavered.  From  first  to 
last,'  he  was  determined  not  to  admit  that  Congress  had 
the  powers  of  Parliament.  No  sooner  had  the  politicians 
made  out  this  attitude  than  their  attack  on  it  began.  It  did 
not  cease  until  Lincoln’s  death.  It  added  a second  consti- 
tutional question  to  the  issues  of  the  war.  Not  only  the 
issue  whether  a State  had  a right  to  secede,  but  also  the 
issue  of  the  President’s  possession  of  the  war  powers  of 
the  Constitution.  Time  and  again  the  leaders  of  dis- 
affection in  his  own  party,  to  say  nothing  of  the  violent 
Democrats,  exhausted  their  rhetoric  denouncing  Lincoln’s 
position.  They  did  not  deny  themselves  the  delights  of 
the  sneer.  Senator  Grimes  spoke  of  a call  on  the  Presi- 
dent as  an  attempt  “to  approach  the  footstool  of  power 
enthroned  at  the  other  end  of  the  Avenue.”"  Wade  ex- 
panded the  idea:  “We  ought  to  have  a committee  to  wait 
on  him  whenever  we  send  him  a bill,  to  know  what  his 
royal  pleasure  is  with  regard  to  it.  . . . We  are  told 

that  some  gentlemen  . . . have  been  to  see  the  Presi- 

dent. Some  gentlemen  are  very  fortunate  in  that  respect. 


IS  CONGRESS  THE  MASTER? 


215 


. . . Nobody  can  see  him,  it  seems,  except  some  privi- 

leged gentlemen  who  are  charged  with  his  constitutional 
conscience.”^  As  Lincoln  kept  his  doors  open  to  all  the 
world,  as  no  one  came  and  went  with  greater  freedom  than 
the  Chairman  of  the  Committee,  the  sneer  was — what  one 
might  expect  of  the  Committee.  Sumner  said:  ‘T  claim 
for  Congress  all  that  belongs  to  any  government  in  the 
exercise  of  the  rights  of  war.”  Disagreement  with  him, 
he  treated  with  unspeakable  disdain:  “Born  in  ignorance 
and  pernicious  in  consequence,  it  ought  to  be  received  with 
hissings  of  contempt,  and  just  in  proportion  as  it  obtains 
acceptance,  with  execration.”^  Henry  Wilson  declared 
that,  come  what  might,  the  policy  of  the  Administration 
would  be  shaped  by  the  two  Houses.  “I  had  rather  give 
a policy  to  the  Pf-esident  of  the  United  States  than  take  a 
policy  from  the  President  of  the  United  States.”^  Trum- 
bull thundered  against  the  President’s  theory  as  the  last 
word  in  despotism.^ 

Such  is  the  mental  perspective  in  which  to  regard  the 
speech  of  Stevens  of  January  22,  1862.  With  masterly 
clearness,  he  put  his  finger  on  the  heart  of  the  matter: 
the  exceptional  problems  of  a time  of  war,  problems  that 
can  not  be  foreseen  and  prepared  for  by  anticipatory  legis- 
lation, may  be  solved  in  but  one  way,  by  the  temporary 
creation  of  the  dictator;  this  is  as  true  of  modern  America 
as  of  ancient  Rome;  so  far,  most  people  are  agreed;  but 
this  extraordinary  function  must  not  be  vested  in  the  Execu- 
tive; on  the  contrary,  it  must  be,  it  is,  vested  in  the  Legis- 
lature. Stevens  did  not  hesitate  to  push  his  theory  to  its 
limit.  He  was  not  afraid  of  making  the  Legislature  in 
time  of  war  the  irresponsible  judge  of  its  own  acts.  Con- 
gress, said  he,  has  all  possible  powers  of  government,  even 


2i6 


LINCOLN 


the  (iictator’s  power;  it  could  declare  itself  a dictator; 
under  certain  circumstances  he  was  willing  that  it  should 
do  so/ 

The  intellectual  boldness  of  Lincoln  was  matched  by  an 
equal  boldness.  Between  them,  he  and  Stevens  had  per- 
fectly defined  their  issue.  Granted  that  a dictator  was 
needed,  which  should  it  be — the  President  or  Congress? 

In  the  hesitancy  at  the  White  House  during  the  last 
eclipse,  in  the  public  distress  and  the  personal  grief,  Lin- 
coln withheld  himself  from  this  debate.  No  great  utterances 
break  the  gloom  of  this  period.  Nevertheless,  what  may 
be  considered  his  reply  to  Stevens  is  to  be  found.  Buried 
in  the  forgotten  portions  of  the  Congressional  Globe  is  a 
speech  that  surely  was  inspired — or,  if  not  directly  inspired, 
so  close  a reflection  of  the  President’s  thinking  that  it 
comes  to  the  same  thing  at  the  end. 

Its  author,  or  apparent  author,  was  one  of  the  few 
serene  figures  in  that  Thirty-Seventh  Congress  which  was 
swept  so  pitilessly  by  epidemics  of  passion.  When  Doug- 
las, after  coming  out  valiantly  for  the  Union  and  holding 
\ up  Lincoln’s  hands  at  the  hour  of  crisis,  suddenly  died,  the 
fvA -iiij^jg^Legislatore  jiamed  as  his  successor  in  the  Senate, 
^ Qrylile  He^ry  Browning.  The  new  Senator  was  Lincoln’s 
intimate  friend.  Their  points  of  view,  their  temperaments 
were  similar.  Browning  shared  Lincoln’s  magnanimity, 
his  hatred  of  extremes,  his  eagerness  not  to  allow  the  war 
to  degenerate  into  revolution.  In  the  early  part  of  1862 
he  was  Lincoln’s  spokesman  in  the  Senate.  Now  that  the 
temper  of  Wade  and  Chandler,  the  ruthlessness  that  dom- 
inated the  Committee,  had  drawn  unto  itself  such  a cohort 
of  allies;  now  that  all  their  thinking  had  been  organized 
by  a fearless  mind;  there  was  urgent  need  for  a masterly 


IS  CONGRESS  THE  MASTER? 


217 


reply.  Did  Lincoln  feel  unequal,  at  the  moment,  to  this 
great  task?  Very  probably  he  did.  Anyhow,  it  was 
Browning  who  made  the  reply,®  a reply  so  exactly  in  his 
friend’s  vein,  that — there  you  are ! 

His  aim  was  to  explain  the  nature  of  those  war  powers 
of  the  government  "'which  lie  dormant  during  time  of 
peace,”  and  therefore  he  frankly  put  the  question,  "Ts  Con- 
gress the  government?”  Senator  Fessenden,  echoing 
Stevens  had  said,  “There  is  no  limit  on  the  powers  of  Con- 
gress; everything  must  yield  to  the  force  of  martial  law 
as  resolved  by  Congress.”  “There,  sir,”  said  Browning, 
“is  as  broad  and  deep  a foundation  for  absolute  despotism 
as  was  ever  laid.”  He  rang  the  changes  on  the  need  to 
“protect  minorities  from  the  oppression  and  tyranny  of 
excited  majorities.” 

He  went  on  to  lay  the  basis  of  all  Lincoln’s  subsequent 
defense  of  the  presidential  theory  as  opposed  to  the  con- 
gressional theory,  by  formulating  two  propositions  which 
reappear  in  some  of  Lincoln’s  most  famous  papers.  Con- 
gress is  not  a safe  vessel  for  extraordinary  powers,  because 
in  our  system  we  have  difficulty  in  bringing  it  definitely  to 
an  account  under  any  sort  of  plebiscite.  On  the  other 
hand  the  President,  if  he  abuses  the  war  powers  “when 
peace  returns,  is  answerable  to  the  civil  power  for  that 
abuse.” 

But  Browning  was  not  content  to  reason  on  generalities. 
Asserting  that  Congress  could  no  more  command  the  army 
than  it  could  adjudicate  a case,  he  further  asserted  that 
the  Supreme  Court  had  settled  the  matter  and  had  lodged 
the  war  powers  in  the  President.  He  cited  a decision 
called  forth  by  the  legal  question,  “Can  a Circuit  Court  of 
the  United  States  inquire  whether  a President  had  acted 


2i8 


LINCOLN 


rightly  in  calling  out  the  militia  of  a State  to  suppress  an 
insurrection  “The  elevated  office  of  the  President,”  said 
the  Court,  “chosen  as  he  is  by  the  People  of  the  United 
States,  and  the  high  responsibility  he  could  not  fail  to  feel 
when  acting  in  a case  of  such  moment,  appear  to  furnish 
as  strong  safeguards  against  the  wilful  abuse  of  power  as 
human  prudence  and  foresight  could  well  'devise.  At  all 
events,  it  is  conferred  upon  him  by  the  Constitution  and 
the  laws  of  the  United  States,  and  therefore,  must  be  re- 
spected and  enforced  in  its  judicial  tribunals.’’® 

Whether  or  not  constitutional  lawyers  would  agree  with 
Browning  in  the  conclusion  he  drew  from  this  decision,  it 
was  plainly  the  bed  rock  of  his  thought.  He  believed  that 
the  President — ^whatever  your  mere  historian  might  have 
to  say — was  in  point  of  fact  the  exponent  of  the  people  as 
a whole,  and  therefore  the  proper  vessel  for  the  ultimate 
rights  of  a sovereign,  rights  that  only  the  people  possess, 
that  only  the  people  can  delegate.  And  this  was  Lincoln’s 
theory.  Roughly  speaking,  he  conceived  of  the  presidential 
office  about  as  if  it  were  the  office  of  Tribune  of  the  People. 

There  was  still  another  reason  why  both  Lincoln  and 
Browning  feared  to  yield  anything  to  the  theory  of  con- 
gressional supremacy.  It  was,  in  their  minds,  not  only  the 
general  question  of  all  Congresses  but  immediately  of  this 
particular  Congress.  An  assembly  in  which  the  temper  of 
Wade  and  Chandler,  of  Stevens  and  Sumner,  was  entering 
the  ascendent,  was  an  assembly  to  be  feared;  its  supremacy 
was  to  be  denied,  its  power  was  to  be  fought. 

Browning  did  not  close  without  a startling  passage 
flung  square  in  the  teeth  of  the  apostles  of  fury.  He 
summed  up  the  opposite  temper,  Lincoln’s  temper,  in  his 
description  of  “Our  brethren  of  the  South — for  I am  will- 


IS  CONGRESS  THE  MASTER? 


219 


ing*  to  call  them  brethren ; my  heart  yet  yearns  toward  them 
with  a fervency  of  love  which  even  their  treason  has  not 
all  extinguished,  which  tempts  me  constantly  to  say  in 
their  behalf,  ‘Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do/  He  pleaded  with  the  Senate  not  to  consider 
them  “as  public  enemies  but  as  insurgent  citizens  only,’’ 
and  advocated  an  Act  of  Amnesty  restoring  all  political 
and  property  rights  “instantly  upon  their  return  to  alle- 
giance and  submission  to  the  authority  of  the  government.” 

Had  this  narrowly  constitutional  issue  arisen  in  quiet 
times,  who  can  say  how  slight  might  have  been  its  signifi- 
cance? But  Fate  had  decreed  that  it  should  arise  in  the 
stormiest  moment  of  our  history.  Millions  of  men  and 
women  who  cared  nothing  for  constitutional  theories,  who 
were  governed  by  that  passion  to  see  immediate  results 
which  the  thoughtless  ever  confuse  with  achievement,  these 
were  becoming  hysterical  over  delay.  Why  did  not  the 
government  do  something?  Everywhere  voices  were  raised 
accusing  the  President  of  cowardice.  The  mania  of  sus- 
picion was  not  confined  to  the  Committee.  The  thoughts 
of  a multitude  were  expressed  by  Congressman  Hickman 
in  his  foolish  words,  “These  are  days  of  irresponsibility 
and  imbecility,  and  we  are  required  to  perform  two  offices^ — • 
the  office  of  legislator  and  the  office  of  President.”  The 
better  part  of  a year  had  passed  since  the  day  of  Sumter, 
and  still  the  government  had  no  military  success  to 
its  credit.  An  impetuous  people  that  lacked  experience  of 
war,  that  had  been  accustomed  in  unusual  measure  to  have 
its  wishes  speedily  gratified,  must  somehow  be  marshalled 
behind  the  government,  unless — the  alternative  was  the 
capture  of  power  by  the  Congressional  Cabal  that  was 
forming  against  the  President. 


220 


LINCOLN 


Entering  upon  the  dark  days  of  the  first  half  of  1862, 
Lincoln  had  no  delusions  about  the  task  immediately  before 
him.  He  must  win  battles;  otherwise,  he  saw  no  way  of 
building  up  that  popular  support  which  alone  would  enable 
him  to  keep  the  direction  of  policy  in  the  hands  of  the 
Executive,  to  keep  it  out  of  the  hands  of  Congress.  In  a 
word,  the  standing  or  falling  of  his  power  appeared  to  have 
been  committed  to  the  keeping  of  the  army.  What  the 
army  would  do  with  it,  save  his  policy  or  wreck  his  policy, 
was  to  no  small  degree  a question  of  the  character  and  the 
abilities  of  the  Commanding  General. 


XXI 


THE  STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY 

George  Brinton  McClellan,  when  at  the  age  of 
thirty-four  he  was  raised  suddenly  to  a dizzying  height  of 
fame  and  power,  was  generally  looked  upon  as  a prodig}^ 
Though  he  was  not  that,  he  had  a real  claim  to  distinction. 
Had  destiny  been  considerate,  permitting  him  to  rise 
gradually  and  to  mature  as  he  rose,  he  might  have  earned 
a stable  reputation  high  among  those  who  are  not  quite 
great.  He  had  done  well  at  West  Point,  and  as  a very 
young  officer  in  the  Mexican  War;  he  had  represented  his 
country  as  a military  observer  with  the  allies  in  the  Crimea ; 
he  was  a good  engineer,  and  a capable  man  of  business. 
His  winning  personality,  until  he  went  wrong  in  the  terrible 
days  of  1862,  inspired  “a  remarkable  affection  and  regard 
in  every  one  from  the  President  to  the  humblest  orderly 
that  waited  at  his  door.”^  He  was  at  home  among  books ; 
he  could  write  to  his  wife  that  Prince  Napoleon  “speaks 
English  very  much  as  the  Frenchmen  do  in  the  old  English 
comedies’';^  he  was  able  to  converse  in  “French,  Spanish, 
Italian,  German,  in  two  Indian  dialects,  and  he  knew  a little 
Russian  and  Turkish.’’  Men  like  Wade  and  Chandler 
probably  thought  of  him  as  a “highbrow,”  and  doubtless 
he  irritated  them  by  invariably  addressing  the  President  as 
“Your  Excellency.”  He  had  the  impulses  as  well  as  the 
traditions  of  an  elder  day.  But  he  had  three  insidious 

221 


222 


LINCOLN 


defects.  At  the  back  of  his  mind  there  was  a vein  of 
theatricality,  hitherto  imrevealed,  that  might,  under  suffi- 
cient stimulus,  transform  him  into  a poseur.  Though 
physically  brave,  he  had  in  his  heart,  unsuspected  by  him- 
self or  others,  the  dread  of  responsibility.  He  was  void 
of  humor.  These  damaging  qualities,  brought  out  and 
exaggerated  by  too  swift  a rise  to  apparent  greatness, 
eventually  worked  his  ruin.  As  an  organizer  he  was 
unquestionably  efficient.  His  great  achievement  which 
secures  him  a creditable  place  in  American  history  was  the 
conversion  in  the  autumn  of  i86i  of  a defeated  rabble  and 
a multitude  of  raw  militia  into  a splendid  fighting  machine. 
The  very  excellence  of  this  achievement  was  part  of  his 
undoing.  It  was  so  near  to  magical  that  it  imposed  on 
himself,  gave  him  a false  estimate  of  himself,  hid  from  him 
his  own  limitation.  It  imposed  also  on  his  enemies.  Crude, 
fierce  men  like  the  Vindictive  leaders  of  Congress,  seeing 
this  miracle  take  place  so  astoundingly  soon,  leaped  at  once 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  could,  if  he  would,  follow  it  by 
another  miracle.  Having  forged  the  thunderbolt,  why 
could  he  not,  if  he  chose,  instantly  smite  and  destroy?  All 
these  hasty  inexperienced  zealots  labored  that  winter  under 
the  delusion  that  one  great  battle  might  end  the  war. 
When  McClellan,  instead  of  rushing  to  the  front,  entered 
his  second  phase — the  one  which  he  did  not  understand 
himself,  which  his  enemies  never  understood — when  he 
entered  upon  his  long  course  of  procrastination,  the 
Jacobins,  startled,  dumfounded,  casting  about  for  reasons, 
could  find  in  their  unanalytical  vision,  but  one.  When 
Jove  did  not  strike,  it  must  be  because  Jove  did  not  wish 
to  strike.  McClellan  was  delaying  for  a purpose.  Almost 
instantaneous  was  the  whisper,  followed  quickly  by  the  out- 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  223 

cry  among  the  Jacobins,  '‘Treachery!  We  are  betrayed. 
He  is  in  league  with  the  enemy.” 

Their  distrust  was  not  allayed  by  the  manner  in  which 
he  conducted  himself.  His  views  of  life  and  of  the  office 
of  commanding  general  were  not  those  of  frontier  America. 
He  believed  in  pomp,  in  display,  in  an  ordered  routine. 
The  fine  weather  of  the  autumn  of  1861  was  utilized  at 
Washington  for  frequent  reviews.  The  flutter  of  flags,  the 
glint  of  marching  bayonets,  the  perfectly  ordered  rhythm 
of  marching  feet,  the  blare  of  trumpets,  the  silvery  notes 
of  the  bugles,  the  stormily  rolling  drums,  all  these  filled 
with  martial  splendor  the  golden  autumn  air  when  the 
woods  were  falling  brown.  And  everywhere,  it  seemed, 
look  where  one  might,  a sumptuously  uniformed  Command- 
ing General,  and  a numerous  and  sumptuous  staff,  were 
galloping  past,  mounted  on  beautiful  horses.  Plain,  blunt 
men  like  the  Jacobins,  caring  nothing  for  this  ritual  of 
command,  sneered.  They  exchanged  stories  of  the  elabo- 
rate dinners  he  was  said  to  give  daily,  the  several  courses, 
the  abundance  of  wine,  the  numerous  guests ; and  after  these 
dinners,  he  and  his  gorgeous  staff,  "clattering  up  and  down 
the  public  streets”  merely  to  show  themselves  off.  All  this 
sneering  was  wildly  exaggerated.  The  mania  of  exaggera- 
tion, the  mania  of  suspicion,  saturated  the  mental  air 
breathed  by  every  politician  at  Washington,  that  desperate 
winter,  except  the  great  and  lonely  President  and  the 
cynical  Secretary  of  State. 

McClellan  made  no  concessions  to  the  temper  of  the 
hour.  With  Lincoln,  his  relations  at  first  were  cordial. 
Always  he  was  punctiliously  respectful  to  "His  Excellency.” 
It  is  plain  that  at  first  Lincoln  liked  him  and  that  his  liking 
was  worn  away  slowly.  It  is  equally  plain  that  Lincoln 


224 


LINCOLN 


did  not  know  how  to  deal  with  him.  The  tendency  to  pos^ 
was  so  far  from  anything  in  Lincoln’s  make-up  that  it  re- 
mained for  him,  whether  in  McClellan  or  another,  unin- 
telligible. That  humility  which  was  so  conspicuous  in  this 
first  period  of  his  rule,  led  him  to  assume  with  his  General 
a modest,  even  an  appealing  tone.  The  younger  man  began 
to  ring  false  by  failing  to  appreciate  it.  He  even  com- 
plained of  it  in  a letter  to  his  wife.  The  military  ritualist 
Vv^ould  have  liked  a more  01}anpian  superior.  And  there 
is  no  denying  that  his  head  was  getting  turned.  Perhaps 
lie  had  excuse.  The  newspapers  printed  nonsensical  edi- 
torials praising  ‘"the  young  Napoleon.”  His  mail  was 
filled  with  letters  urging  him  to  carry  things  with  a high 
hand;  disregard,  if  necessary,  the  pusillanimous  civil  gov- 
ernment, and  boldly  ‘'save  the  country.”  He  had  so  little 
humor  that  he  could  take  this  stuff  seriously.  Among  all 
the  foolish  letters  which  the  executors  of  famous  men  have 
permitted  to  see  the  light  of  publicity,  few  outdo  a letter 
of  McClellan’s  in  which  he  confided  to  his  wife  that  he  was 
willing  to  become  dictator,  should  that  be  the  only  way  out, 
and  then,  after  saving  his  country,  to  perish.^ 

In  this  lordly  mood  of  the  melodramatic,  he  gradually 
— probably  without  knowing  it — ^became  inattentive  to  the 
President.  Lincoln  used  to  go  to  his  house  to  consult 
him,  generally  on  foot,  clad  in  very  ordinary  clothes.  He 
was  known  to  sit  in  McClellan’s  library  “rather  unnoticed” 
awaiting  the  General’s  pleasure.'* 

At  last  the  growing  coolness  of  McClellan  went  so  far 
that  an  event  occurred  which  Hay  indignantly  set  down 
in  his  diary:  “I  wish  here  to  record  what  I consider  a 
portent  of  evil  to  come.  The  President,  Governor  Seward 
and  I went  over  to  McClellan’s  house  to-night.  The 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  225 


servant  at  the  door  said  the  General  was  at  the  wedding 
of  Colonel  Wheaton  at  General  Buell’s  and  would  soon  re- 
turn. We  went  in  and  after  we  had  waited  about  an  hour, 
McClellan  came  in,  and  without  paying  particular  atten- 
tion to  the  porter  who  told  him  the  President  was  waiting 
to  see  him,  went  up-stairs,  passing  the  door  of  the  room 
where  the  President  and  the  Secretary  of  State  were 
seated.  They  waited  about  half  an  hour,  and  sent  once 
more  a servant  to  tell  the  General  they  were  there ; and  the 
answer  came  that  the  General  had  gone  to  bed. 

'T  merely  record  this  unparalleled  insolence  of  epaulettes 
without  comment.  It  is  the  first  indication  I have  yet 
seen  of  the  threatened  supremacy  of  the  military  author- 
ities. Coming  home,  I spoke  to  the  President  about  the 
matter,  but  he  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  it  specially,  say- 
ing it  were  better  at  this  time  not  to  be  making  points  of 
etiquette  and  personal  dignity.”^ 

Did  ever  a subordinate,  even  a general,  administer  to  a 
superior  a more  astounding  snub?  To  Lincoln  in  his 
selfless  temper,  it  was  only  a detail  in  his  problem  of  getting 
the  army  into  action.  What  room  for  personal  affronts 
however  gross  in  a mood  like  his?  To  be  sure  he  ceased 
going  to  McClellan’s  house,  and  thereafter  summoned  Mc- 
Clellan to  come  to  him,  but  no  change  appeared  in  the  tone 
of  his  intercourse  with  the  General.  *T  will  hold  Mc- 
Clellan’s horse,”  said  he,  ‘‘if  he  will  win  me  victories.”® 
All  this  while,  the  two  were  debating  plans  of  campaign 
and  McClellan  was  revealing — as  we  now  see,  though  no 
one  saw  it  at  the  time — the  deep  dread  of  responsibility 
that  was  destined  to  paralyze  him  as  an  active  general.  He 
was  never  ready.  Always,  there  must  be  more  prepara- 
tion, more  men,  more  this,  more  that. 


226 


LINCOLN 


In  January,  1862,  Lincoln,  grown  desperate  because  of 
hope  deferred,  made  the  first  move  of  a sort  that  was  to 
be  lamentably  frequent  the  next  six  months.  He  went 
over  the  head  of  the  Commanding  General,  and,  in  order 
to  force  a result,  evoked  a power  not  recognized  in  the 
military  scheme  of  things.  By  this  time  the  popular  adula- 
tion of  McClellan  was  giving  place  to  a general  imitation 
of  the  growling  of  the  Jacobins,  now  well  organized  in  the 
terrible  Committee  and  growing  each  day  more  and  more 
hostile  to  the  Administration.  Lincoln  had  besought  Mc- 
Clellan to  take  into  account  the  seriousness  of  this  rising 
tide  of  opposition.'^  His  arguments  made  no  impression. 
McClellan  would  not  recognize  the  political  side  of  war. 
At  last,  partly  to  allay  the  popular  clamor,  partly  to  force 
McClellan  into  a corner,  Lincoln  published  to  the  country 
a military  program.  He  publicly  instructed  the  Command- 
ing General  to  put  all  his  forces  in  movement  on  all  fronts, 
on  V/ashington’s  birthday.® 

From  this  moment  the  debate  between  the  President 
and  the  General  with  regard  to  plans  of  campaign  ap- 
proached the  nature  of  a dispute.  McClellan  repeated  his 
demand  for  more  time  in  which  to  prepare.  He  objected 
to  the  course  of  advance  which  the  President  wished  him 
to  pursue.  Lincoln,  seeing  the  situation  first  of  all  as  a 
political  problem,  grounded  his  thought  upon  two  ideas 
neither  of  which  was  shared  by  McClellan:  the  idea  that 
the  supreme  consideration  was  the  safety  of  Washington; 
the  resultant  idea  that  McClellan  should  move  directly 
south,  keeping  his  whole  anny  constantly  between  Wash- 
ington and  the  enemy.  McClellan  wished  to  treat  Wash- 
ington as  but  one  important  detail  in  his  strategy;  he  had 
a grandiose  scheme  for  a wide  flanking  movement,  for 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  227 


taking  the  bulk  of  his  army  by  sea  to  the  coast  of  Vir- 
ginia, and  thus  to  draw  the  Confederate  army  homeward 
for  a duel  to  the  death  under  the  walls  of  Richmond.  Lin- 
coln, neither  then  nor  afterward  more  than  an  amateur  in 
strategy,  was  deeply  alarmed  by  this  bold  mode  of  pro- 
cedure. His  political  instinct  told  him  that  if  there  was 
any  slip  and  Washington  was  taken,  even  briefly,  by  the 
Confederates,  the  game  was  up.  He  was  still  further 
alarmed  when  he  found  that  some  of  the  elder  generals 
held  views  resembling  his  own.^  To  his  modest,  still 
groping  mind,  this  was  a trying  situation.  In  the  Presi- 
dent lay  the  ultimate  responsibility  for  every  move  the  army 
should  make.  And  whose  advice  should  he  accept  as 
authoritative?  The  first  time  he  asked  himself  that  ques- 
tion, such  peace  of  mind  as  had  survived  the  harassing 
year  1861  left  him,  not  to  return  for  many  a day. 

At  this  moment  of  crises,  occurred  one  of  his  keenest 
personal  afflictions.  His  little  son  Willie  sickened  and  died. 
Lincoln’s  relation  to  his  children  was  very  close,  very 
tender.  Many  anecdotes  show  this  boy  frolicking  about 
the  White  House,  a licensed  intruder  everywhere.  An- 
other flood  of  anecdotes  preserve  the  stupefying  grief  of 
his  father  after  the  child’s  death.  Of  these  latter,  the  most 
extreme  which  portray  Lincoln  toward  the  close  of  Febru- 
ary so  unnerved  as  to  be  incapable  of  public  duty,  may  be 
dismissed  as  apocryphal.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
his  unhappiness  was  too  great  for  the  vain  measurement  of 
descriptive  words ; that  it  intensified  the  nervous  mood  which 
had  already  possessed  him ; that  anxiety,  deepening  at  times 
into  terrible  alarm,  became  his  constant  companion. 

In  his  dread  and  sorrow,  his  dilemma  grew  daily  more 
intolerable.  McClellan  had  opposed  so  stoutly  the  Wash- 


228 


LINCOLN 


ington  birthday  order  that  Lincoln  had  permitted  him  to 
ignore  it.  He  was  still  wavering  which  advice  to  take, 
McClellan’s  or  the  elder  generals’.  To  remove  McClellan, 
to  try  at  this  critical  moment  some  other  general,  did  not 
occur  to  him  as  a rational  possibility.  But  somehow  he 
felt  he  must  justify  himself  to  himself  for  yielding  to  Mc- 
Clellan’s views.  In  his  zeal  to  secure  some  judgment  more 
authoritative  than  his  own,  he  took  a further  step  along 
the  dangerous  road  of  going  over  the  Commander’s  head, 
of  bringing  to  bear  upon  him  influences  not  strictly  in- 
cluded in  the  military  system.  He  required  McClellan  to 
submit  his  plan  to  a council  of  his  general  officers.  Lin- 
coln attended  this  council  and  told  the  generals  “he  was 
not  a military  man  and  therefore  would  be  governed  by  the 
opinion  of  a majority.”^^  The  council  decided  in  Mc- 
Clellan’s favor  by  a vote  of  eight  to  four.  This  was  a 
disappointment  to  Lincoln.  So  firm  was  his  addiction  to 
the  overland  route  that  he  could  not  rest  content  with  the 
council’s  decision.  Stanton  urged  him  to  disregard  it, 
sneering  that  the  eight  who  voted  against  him  were  Mc- 
Clellan’s creatures,  his  “pets.”  But  Lincoln  would  not 
risk  going  against  the  majority  of  the  council.  “We  are 
civilians,”  said  he,  “we  should  justly  be  held  responsible 
for  any  disaster  if  we  set  up  our  opinions  against  those 
of  experienced  military  men  in  the  practical  management 
of  a campaign. 

Nevertheless,  from  this  quandary,  in  which  his  reason 
forced  him  to  do  one  thing  while  all  his  sensibilities  pro- 
tested, he  extricated  himself  in  a curious  way.  Through- 
out the  late  winter  he  had  been  the  object  of  a concerted 
attack  from  Stanton  and  the  Committee.  The  Committee 
had  tacitly  annexed  Stanton.  He  conferred  with  them 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  T/ 


fj' 

confidentially.  At  each  important  turn  of 
they  always  got  together  in  a secret  powpow. 


he  and 
'x^As' early  as 

February  twentieth,  when  Lincoln  seemed  to  he  breaking 
down  with  grief  and  anxiety,  one  of  those  secret  confer- 
ences of  the  high  conspirators  ended  in  a determination  tO' 
employ  all  their  forces,  direct  and  indirect,  to  bring  about 
McClellan’s  retirement.  They  were  all  victims  of  that 
mania  of  suspicion  which  was  the  order  of  the  day.  "‘A 
majority  of  the  Committee,”  wrote  its  best  member,  long 
afterward  when  he  had  come  to  see  things  in  a different 
light,  ‘‘strongly  suspected  that  General  McClellan  was  a 
traitor.”  Wade  vented  his  spleen  in  furious  words  about 
“King  McClellan.”  Unrestrained  by  Lincoln’s  anguish, 
the  Committee  demanded  a conference  a few  days  after 
his  son’s  death  and  threatened  an  appeal  from  President 
to  Congress  if  he  did  not  quickly  force  McClellan  to  ad- 
vance.^^ 

All  this  while  the  Committee  was  airing  another  griev- 
ance. They  clamored  to  have  the  twelve  divisions  of  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  grouped  into  corps.  They  gave  as 
their  motive,  military  efficiency.  And  perhaps  they 
thought  they  meant  it.  But  there  was  a cat  in  the  bag 
which  they  carefully  tried  to  conceal.  The  generals  of 
divisions  formed  two  distinct  groups,  the  elder  ones  who 
did  not  owe  their  elevation  to  McClellan  and  the  younger 
ones  who  did.  The  elder  generals,  it  happened,  sympa- 
thized generally  with  the  Committee  in  politics,  or  at  least 
did  not  sympathize  with  McClellan.  The  younger  generals 
reflected  the  politics  of  their  patron.  And  McClellan  was 
a Democrat,  a hater  of  the  Vindictives,  unsympathetic  with 
Abolition.  Therefore,  the  mania  of  suspicion  being  in  full 
flood,  the  ^ommiftf^  would  believe  no  good  of  McClellan 


\ 


230 


LINCOLN 


when  he  opposed  advancing  the  elder  generals  to  the  rank 
of  corps  commanders.  His  explanation  that  he  “wished  to 
test  them  in  the  field,”  was  poohpoohed.  Could  not  any 
good  Jacobin  see  through  that!  Of  course,  it  was  but  an 
excuse  to  hold  back  the  plums  until  he  could  drop  them 
into  the  itching  palms  of  those  wicked  Democrats,  his 
“pets.”  Why  should  not  the  good  men  and  true,  elder  and 
therefore  better  soldiers,  whose  righteousness  was  so  well 
attested  by  their  political  leanings,  why  should  not  they 
have  the  places  of  power  to  which  their  rank  entitled  them? 

Hitherto,  however,  Lincoln  had  held  out  against  the 
Committee’s  demand  and  had  refused  to  compel  McClellan 
to  reorganize  his  army  against  his  will.  He  now  observed 
that  in  the  council  which  cast  the  die  against  the  overland 
route,  the  division  between  the  two  groups  of  generals, 
what  we  may  call  the  Lincoln  generals  and  the  McClellan 
generals,  was  sharply  evident.  The  next  day  he  issued  a 
general  order  which  organized  the  army  of  the  Potomac 
into  corps,  and  promoted  to  the  rank  of  corps  commanders, 
those  elder  generals  whose  point  of  view  was  similar  to  his 
own.^^  Thereafter,  any  reference  of  crucial  matters  to  a 
council  of  general  officers,  would  mean  submitting  it,  not 
to  a dozen  commanders  of  divisions  with  McClellan  men  in 
the  majority,  but  to  four  or  five  commanders  of  corps 
none  of  whom  was  definitely  of  the  McClellan  faction. 
Thus  McClellan  was  virtually  put  under  surveillance  of  an 
informal  war  council  scrutinizing  his  course  from  the 
President’s  point  of  view.  It  was  this  reduced  council  of 
the  subordinates,  as  will  presently  appear,  that  made  the 
, crucial  decision  of  the  campaign. 

On  the  same  day  Lincoln  issued  another  general  order 
accepting  McClellan’s  plan  for  a flanking  movement  to  the 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  231 


Virginia  coast.^^  The  Confederate  lines  at  this  time  ran 
through  Manassas — the  point  Lincoln  wished  McClellan  to 
strike.  It  was  to  be  known  later  that  the  Confederate  Gen- 
eral gave  to  Lincoln’s  views  the  high  endorsement  of  as- 
suming that  they  were  the  inevitable  views  that  the  North- 
ern Commander, ‘if  he  knew  his  business,  would  act  upon. 
Therefore,  he  had  been  quietly  preparing  to  withdraw  his 
army  to  more  defensible  positions  farther  South.  By  a 
curious  coincidence,  his  ^‘strategic  retreat”  occurred  im- 
mediately after  McClellan  had  been  given  authority  to  do 
what  he  liked.  On  the  ninth  of  March  it  was  known  at 
Washington  that  Manassas  had  been  evacuated.  Where- 
upon, McClellan’s  fatal  lack  of  humor  permitted  him  to 
make  a great  blunder.  The  man  who  had  refused  to  go 
to  Manassas  while  the  Confederates  were  there,  marched 
an  army  to  Manassas  the  moment  he  heard  that  they  were 
gone — and  then  marched  back  again.  This  performance 
was  instantly  fixed  upon  for  ridicule  as  McClellan’s  “prom- 
enade to  Manassas.” 

To  Lincoln  the  news  of  the  promenade  seemed  both  a 
vindication  of  his  own  plan  and  crushing  evidence  that  if 
he  had  insisted  on  his  plan,  the  Confederate  army  would 
have  been  annihilated,  the  war  in  one  cataclysm  brought  to 
an  end.  He  was  ridden,  as  most  men  were,  by  the  delusion 
of  one  terrific  battle  that  was  to  end  all.  In  a bitterness 
of  disappointment,  his  slowly  tortured  spirit  burst  into 
rage.  The  Committee  was  delighted.  For  once,  they  ap- 
proved of  him.  The  next  act  of  this  man,  ordinarily  so 
gentle,  seems  hardly  credible.  By  a stroke  of  his  pen,  he 
stripped  McClellan  of  the  office  of  Commanding  General, 
reduced  him  to  the  rank  of  mere  head  of  a local  army,  the 
army  of  the  Potomac;  furthermore,  he  permitted  him  to 


232 


LINCOLN 


hear  of  his  degradation  through  the  heartless  medium  of  the 
daily  papers.^^  The  functions  of  Commanding  General 
were  added  to  the  duties  of  the  Secretary  of  War.  Stan- 
ton, now  utterly  merciless  toward  McClellan,  instantly  took 
possession  of  his  office  and  seized  his  papers,  for  all  the 
world  as  if  he  were  pouncing  upon  the  effects  of  a male- 
factor. That  McClellan  was  not  yet  wholly  spoiled  was 
shown  by  the  way  he  received  this  blow.  It  was  the  Mc- 
Clellan of  the  old  days,  the  gallant  gentleman  of  the  year 
i860,  not  the  poseur  of  1861,  who  wrote  at  once  to  Lin- 
coln making  no  complaint,  saying  that  his  services  belonged 
to  his  country  in  whatever  capacity  they  might  be  required. 

Again  a council  of  subordinates  was  invoked  to  deter- 
mine the  next  move.  McClellan  called  together  the  newly 
made  corps  commanders  and  obtained  their  approval  of  a 
variation  of  his  former  plan.  He  now  proposed  to  use 
Fortress  Monroe  as  a base,  and  thence  conduct  an  attack 
upon  Richmond.  Again,  though  with  a touch  of  sullenness 
very  rare  in  Lincoln,  the  President  acquiesced.  But  he  added 
a condition  to  McClellan’s  plan  by  issuing  positive  orders, 
March  thirteenth,  that  it  should  not  be  carried  out  unless 
sufficient  force  was  left  at  Washington  to  render  the  city 
impregnable. 

During  the  next  few  days  the  Committee  must  have 
been  quite  satisfied  with  the  President.  For  him,  he  was 
savage.  The  normal  Lincoln,  the  man  of  immeasurable 
mercy,  had  temporarily  vanished.  McClellan’s  blunder 
had  touched  the  one  spring  that  roused  the  tiger  in  Lincoln. 
By  letting  slip  a chance  to  terminate  the  war — as  it  seemed 
to  that  deluded  Washington  of  March,  1862, — McClellan 
had  converted  Lincoln  from  a brooding  gentleness  to  an 
incarnation  of  the  last  judgment.  He  told  Hay  he  thought 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  233 


that  in  permitting  McClellan  to  retain  any  command,  he 
had  shown  him  “very  great  kindness.”^®  Apparently,  he 
had  no  consciousness  that  he  had  been  harsh  in  the  mode 
of  McClellan’s  abatement,  no  thought  of  the  fine  manliness 
of  McClellan’s  reply. 

During  this  period  of  Lincoln’s  brief  vengefulness, 
Stanton  thought  that  his  time  for  clearing  scores  with  Mc- 
Clellan had  come.  He  even  picked  out  the  man  who  was 
to  be  rushed  over  other  men’s  heads  to  the  command  of 
the  army  of  the  Potomac.  General  Hitchcock,  an  accom- 
plished soldier  of  the  regular  army,  a grandson  of  Ethan 
Allen,  who  had  grown  old  in  honorable  service,  was  sum- 
moned to  Washington,  and  was  “amazed”  by  having 
plumped  at  him  the  question,  would  he  consent  to  succeed 
McClellan?  Though  General  Hitchcock  was  not  without 
faults — and  there  is  an  episode  in  his  later  relations  with 
McClellan  which  his  biographer  discreetly  omits — he  was 
a modest  man.  He  refused  to  consider  Stanton’s  offer. 
But  he  consented  to  become  the  confidential  adviser  of  the 
War  Office.  This  was  done  after  an  interview  with  Lin- 
coln Vv^ho  impressed  on  Hitchcock  his  sense  of  a great  re- 
sponsibility and  of  the  fact  that  he  “had  no  miilitary  knowl- 
edge” and  that  he  must  have  advice. Out  of  this  con- 
gested sense  of  helplessness  in  Lincoln,  joined  with  the 
new  labors  of  the  Secretary  of  War  as  executive  head  of 
all  the  armies,  grew  quickly  another  of  those  ill-omened, 
extra-constitutional  war  councils,  one  more  wheel  within 
the  wheels,  that  were  all  doing  their  part  to  make  the  whole 
machine  unworkable;  distributing  instead  of  concentrating 
power.  This  new  council  which  came  to  be  known  as  the 
Army  Board,  was  made  up  of  the  heads  of  the  Bureaus  of 
the  War  Department  with  the  addition  of  Hitchcock  as 


234 


LINCOLN 


‘'Advising  General.”  Of  the  temper  of  the  Army  Board, 
composed  as  it  was  entirely  of  the  satellites  of  Stanton,  a 
confession  in  Hitchcock’s  diary  speaks  volumes.  On  the 
evening  of  the  first  day  of  their  new  relation,  Stanton 
poured  out  to  him  such  a quantity  of  oral  evidence  of 
McClellan’s  "incompetency”  as  to  make  this  new  recruit 
for  anti-McClellanism  "feel  positively 

By  permitting  this  added  source  of  confusion  among 
his  advisers,  Lincoln  treated  himself  much  as  he  had  al- 
ready treated  McClellan.  By  going  over  McClellan’s  head 
to  take  advice  from  his  subordinates  he  had  put  the  General 
on  a leash;  now,  by  setting  Hitchcock  and  the  experts  in 
the  seat  of  judgment,  he  virtually,  for  a short  while,  put 
himself  on  a leash.  Thus  had  come  into  tacit  but  real 
power  three  military  councils  none  of  which  was  recog- 
nized as  such  by  law — the  Council  of  the  Subordinates  be- 
hind McClellan;  the  Council  of  the  Experts  behind  Lin- 
coln; the  Council  of  the  Jacobins,  called  The  Committee, 
behind  them  all. 

The  political  pressure  on  Lincoln  now  changed  its  tack. 
Its  unfailing  zeal  to  discredit  McClellan  assumed  the  form 
of  insisting  that  he  had  a secret  purpose  in  waiting  to  get 
his  army  away  from  Washington,  that  he  was  scheming  to 
leave  the  city  open  to  the  Confederates,  to  "uncover”  it,  as 
the  soldiers  said.  By  way  of  focussing  the  matter  on  a 
definite  issue,  his  enemies  demanded  that  he  detach  from 
his  army  and  assign  to  the  defense  of  Washington,  a divi- 
sion which  was  supposed  to  be  peculiarly  efficient.  Gen- 
eral Blenker  had  recruited  a sort  of  "foreign  legion,”  in 
which  were  many  daring  adventurers  who  had  seen  service 
in  European  armies.  Blenker’s  was  the  division  de- 
manded. So  determined  was  the  pressure  that  Lincoln 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  235 


yielded.  However,  his  brief  anger  had  blown  itself  out. 
To  continue  vengeful  any  length  of  time  was  for  Lincoln 
impossible.  He  was  again  the  normal  Lincoln,  passion- 
less, tender,  fearful  of  doing  an  injustice,  weighed  down  by 
the  sense  of  responsibility.  He  broke  the  news  about 
Blenker  in  a personal  note  to  McClellan  that  was  almost 
apologetic.  ‘T  write  this  to  assure  you  that  I did  so  with 
great  pain,  understanding  that  you  would  wish  it  other- 
wise. If  you  could  know  the  full  pressure  of  the  case,  I 
am  confident  you  would  justify  it.  . . In  con- 

versation, he  assured  McClellan  that  no  other  portion  of 
his  army  should  be  taken  from  him.^^ 

The  change  in  Lincoln’s  mood  exasperated  Stanton. 
He  called  on  his  pals  in  the  Committee  for  another  of  those 
secret  confabulations  in  which  both  he  and  they  delighted. 
Speaking  with  scorn  of  Lincoln’s  return  to  magnanimity, 
he  told  them  that  the  President  had  “gone  back  to  his  first 
love,”  the  traitor  McClellan.  Probably  all  those  men  who 
wagged  their  chins  in  that  conference  really  believed  that 
McClellan  was  aiming  to  betray  them.  One  indeed,  Julian, 
long  afterward  had  the  largeness  of  mind  to  confess  his 
fault  and  recant.  The  rest  died  in  their  absurd  delusion, 
maniacs  of  suspicion  to  the  very  end.  At  the  time  all  of 
them  laid  their  heads  together — for  what  purpose?  Was 
it  to  catch  McClellan  in  a trap? 

Meanwhile,  in  obedience  to  Lincoln’s  orders  of  March 
thirteenth,  McClellan  drew  up  a plan  for  the  defense  of 
Washington.  As  Hitchcock  was  now  in  such  high  feather, 
McClellan  sent  his  plan  to  the  new  favorite  of  the  War 
Office,  for  criticism.  Hitchcock  refused  to  criticize,  and 
when  McClellan’s  chief  of  staff  pressed  for  “his  opinion,  as 
an  old  and  experienced  officer,”  Hitchcock  replied  that 


236 


LINCOLN 


McClellan  had  had  ample  opportunity  to  know  what  was 
needed,  and  persisted  in  his  refusal.^!  McClellan  asked  no 
further  advice  and  made  his  arrangements  to  suit  himself. 
On  April  first  he  took  boat  at  Alexandria  for  the  front. 
Part  of  his  army  had  preceded  him.  The  remainder — ex- 
cept the  force  he  had  assigned  to  the  defense  of  Washing- 
ton— was  speedily  to  follow. 

With  McClellan’s  departure  still  another  devotee  of 
suspicion  moves  to  the  front  of  the  stage.  This  was  Gen- 
eral Wadsworth.  Early  in  March,  Stanton  had  told  Mc- 
Clellan that  he  wanted  Wadsworth  as  commander  of  the 
defenses  of  Washington.  McClellan  had  protested.  Wads- 
worth was  not  a military  man.  He  was  a politician  turned 
soldier  who  had  tried  to  be  senator  from  New  York  and 
failed;  tried  to  be  governor  and  failed;  and  was  destined 
to  try  again  to  be  governor,  and  again  to  fail.  Why  should 
such  a person  be  singled  out  to  become  responsible  for  the 
safety  of  the  capital?  Stanton’s  only  argument  was  that 
the  appointment  of  Wadsworth  was  desirable  for  political 
reasons.  He  added  that  it  would  be  made  whether  Mc- 
Clellan liked  it  or  not.  And  made  it  was.^^  Further- 
more, Wadsworth,  who  had  previously  professed  friend- 
ship for  McClellan,  promptly  joined  the  ranks  of  his 
enemies.  Can  any  one  doubt,  Stanton  being  Stanton,  mad 
with  distrust  of  McClellan,  that  Wadsworth  was  fully  in- 
formed of  McClellan’s  opposition  to  his  advancement  ? 

On  the  second  of  April  Wadsworth  threw  a bomb  after 
the  vanishing  McClellan,  then  aboard  his  steamer  some- 
where between  Washington  and  Fortress  Monroe.  Wads- 
worth informed  Stanton  that  McClellan  had  not  carried 
out  the  orders  of  March  thirteenth,  that  the  force  he  had 
left  at  Washington  was  inadequate  to  its  safety,  that  the 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  237 


capital  was  ''uncovered.”  Here  was  a chance  for  Stanton 
to  bring  to  bear  on  Lincoln  both  those  unofficial  councils 
that  were  meddling  so  deeply  in  the  control  of  the  army. 
He  threw  this  firebrand  of  a report  among  his  satellites  of 
the  Army  Board  and  into  the  midst  of  the  Committee. 

It  is  needless  here  to  go  into  the  furious  disputes  that 
ensued — the  accusations,  the  recriminations,  the  innuen- 
does! McClellan  stoutly  insisted  that  he  had  obeyed  both 
the  spirit  and  the  letter  of  March  thirteenth;  that  Wash- 
ington was  amply  protected.  His  enemies  shrieked  that 
his  statements  were  based  on  juggled  figures;  that  even  if 
the  number  of  soldiers  was  adequate,  the  quality  and  equip- 
ment were  wretched ; in  a word  that  he  lied.  It  is  a shame- 
less controversy  inconceivable  were  there  not  many  men  in 
whom  politics  and  prejudice  far  outweighed  patriotism. 
In  all  this,  Hitchcock  was  Stanton’s  trump  card.  He  who 
had  refused  to  advise  McClellan,  did  not  hesitate  to  de- 
nounce him.  In  response  to  a request  from  Stanton,  he 
made  a report  sustaining  Wadsworth.  The  Committee 
summoned  Wadsworth  before  it;  he  read  them  his  report 
to  Stanton;  reiterated  its  charges,  and  treated  them  to 
some  innuendoes  after  their  own  hearts,  plainly  hinting 
that  McClellan  could  have  crushed  the  Confederates  at 
Manassas  if  he  had  wished  to.^^ 

A wave  of  hysteria  swept  the  Committee  and  the  War 
Office  and  beat  fiercely  upon  Lincoln.  The  Board  charged 
him  to  save  the  day  by  mulcting  the  army  of  the  Potomac 
of  an  entire  corps,  retaining  it  at  Washington.  Lincoln 
met  the  Board  in  a long  and  troubled  conference.  His 
anxious  desire  to  do  all  he  could  for  McClellan  was  pal- 
pable.-^ But  what,  under  the  circumstances,  could  he  do  ? 

Here  was  this  new  device  for  the  steadying  of  his  judg- 


238 


LINCOLN 


ment,  this  Council  of  Experts,  singing  the  same  old  tune, 
assuring  him  that  McClellan  was  not  to  be  trusted.  Al- 
though in  the  reaction  from  his  momentary  vengefulness 
he  had  undoubtedly  swung  far  back  toward  recovering 
confidence  in  McClellan,  did  he  dare — painfully  conscious 
as  he  was  that  he  "‘had  no  military  knowledge” — did  he 
dare  go  against  the  Board,  disregard  its  warning  that  Mc- 
Clellan’s arrangements  made  of  Washington  a dangling 
plum  for  Confederate  raiders  to  snatch  whenever  they 
pleased.  His  bewilderment  as  to  what  McClellan  was 
really  driving  at  came  back  upon  him  in  full  force.  He 
reached  at  last  the  dreary  conclusion  that  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  let  the  new  wheel  within  the  wheels  take 
its  turn  at  running  the  machine.  Accepting  the  view  that 
McClellan  had  not  kept  faith  on  the  basis  of  the  orders  of 
March  thirteenth,  Lincoln  ‘‘after  much  consideration”  set 
aside  his  own  promise  to  McClellan  and  authorized  the 
Secretary  of  War  to  detain  a full  corps.^® 

McClellan  never  forgave  this  mutilation  of  his  army 
and  in  time  fixed  upon  it  as  the  prime  cause  of  his  eventual 
failure  on  the  Peninsula.  It  is  doubtful  whether  relations 
between  him  and  Lincoln  were  ever  again  really  cordial. 

In  their  rather  full  correspondence  during  the  tense 
days  of  April,  May  and  June,  the  steady  deterioration  of 
McClellan’s  judgment  bore  him  down  into  amazing 
depths  of  fatuousness.  In  his  own  way  he  was  as  much 
appalled  by  the  growth  of  his  responsibility  as  ever  Lincoln 
had  been.  He  moved  with  incredible  caution.* 

His  despatches  were  a continual  wailing  for  more  men. 

*Commenting  on  one  of  his  moments  of  hesitation,  J.  E.  Johnston 
wrote  to  Lee:  “No  one  but  McClellan  could  have  hesitated  to 
attack.”  14  O.  R.,  456. 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  239 


Whatever  went  wrong  was  at  once  blamed  on  Washington. 
His  ill-usage  had  made  him  bitter.  And  he  could  not 
escape  the  fact  that  his  actual  performance  did  not  come 
up  to  expectation;  that  he  was  constantly  out-generaled. 
His  prevailing  temper  during  these  days  is  shown  in  a 
letter  to  his  wife.  ‘T  have  raised  an  awful  row  about 
McDoweirs  corps.  The  President  very  coolly  telegraphed 
me  yesterday  that  he  thought  I ought  to  break  the  enemy’s 
lines  at  once.  I was  much  tempted  to  reply  that  he  had 
better  come  and  do  it  himself.”  A despatch  to  Stanton,  in 
a moment  of  disaster,  has  become  notorious  : ‘Tf  I save 
this  army  now,  I tell  you  plainly  I owe  no  thanks  to  you  or 
to  any  other  persons  in  Washington.  You  have  done  your 
best  to  sacrifice  this  army.”^'^ 

Throughout  this  preposterous  correspondence,  Lincoln 
maintained  the  even  tenor  of  his  usual  patient  stoicism, 
‘‘his  sad  lucidity  of  soul.”  He  explained;  he  reasoned;  he 
promised,  over  and  over,  assistance  to  the  limit  of  his 
power ; he  never  scolded ; when  complaint  became  too 
absurd  to  be  reasoned  with,  he  passed  it  over  in  silence. 
Again,  he  was  the  selfless  man,  his  sensibilities  lost  in  the 
purpose  he  sought  to  establish. 

Once  during  this  period,  he  acted — suddenly,  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  in  a swift  upflaring  of  his  unconquerable 
fear  for  the  safety  of  Washington.  Previously,  he  had 
consented  to  push  the  detained  corps,  McDowell’s,  south- 
ward by  land  to  cooperate  with  McClellan,  who  adapted 
his  plans  to  this  arrangement.  Scarcely  had  he  done  so, 
than  Lincoln  threw  his  plans  into  confusion  by  ordering 
McDowell  back  to  Washington.^®  Jackson,  who  had  begun 
his  famous  campaign  of  menace,  was  sweeping  like  a whirl- 
wind down  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  and  in  the  eyes  of 


240 


LINCOLN 


panic-struck  Washington  appeared  to  be  a reincarnation  of 
Southey’s  Napoleon, — 

“And  the  great  Few-Faw-Fum,  would  presently  come, 
With  a hop,  skip  and  jump” — 

into  Pennsylvania  Avenue.  As  Jackson’s  object  was  to 
bring  McDowell  back  to  Washington  and  enable  Johnston 
to  deal  with  McClellan  unreinforced,  Lincoln  had  fallen 
into  a trap.  But  he  had  much  company.  Stanton  was 
well-nigh  out  of  his  head.  Though  Jackson’s  army  was 
less  than  fifteen  thousand  and  the  Union  forces  in  front  of 
him  upward  of  sixty  thousand,  Stanton  telegraphed  to 
Northern  governors  imploring  them  to  hasten  forward 
militia  because  “the  enemy  in  great  force  are  marching  on 
Washington.”^^ 

The  moment  Jackson  had  accomplished  his  purpose, 
having  drawn  a great  army  northwestward  away  from 
McClellan,  most  of  which  should  have  been  marching 
southeastward  to  join  McClellan,  he  slipped  away,  rushed 
his  own  army  across  the  whole  width  of  Virginia,  and 
joined  Lee  in  the  terrible  fighting  of  the  Seven  Days  before 
Richmond. 

In  the  midst  of  this  furious  confusion,  the  men  sur- 
rounding Lincoln  may  be  excused  for  not  observing  a 
change  in  him.  They  have  recorded  his  appearance  of 
indecision,  his  solicitude  over  McClellan,  his  worn  and 
haggard  look.  The  changing  light  in  those  smoldering 
fires  of  his  deeply  sunken  eyes  escaped  their  notice.  Gradu- 
ally, through  profound  unhappiness,  and  as  always  in 
silence,  Lincoln  was  working  out  of  his  last  eclipse.  No 
certain  record  of  his  inner  life  during  this  transition,  the 
most  important  of  his  life,  has  survived.  We  can  judge 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  241 


of  it  only  by  the  results.  The  outstanding  fact  with  re- 
gard to  it  is  a certain  change  of  attitude,  an  access  of 
determination,  late  in  June.  What  desperate  wrestling 
with  the  angel  had  taken  place  in  the  months  of  agony 
since  his  son’s  death,  even  his  private  secretaries  have  not 
felt  able  to  say.  Neither,  apparently,  did  they  perceive, 
until  it  flashed  upon  them  full-blown,  the  change  that  was 
coming  over  his  resolution.  Nor  did  the  Cabinet  have  any 
warning  that  the  President  was  turning  a corner,  develop- 
ing a new  phase  of  himself,  something  sterner,  more 
powerful  than  anything  they  had  suspected.  This  was 
ever  his  way.  His  instinctive  reticence  stood  firm  until 
the  moment  of  the  new  birth.  Not  only  the  Cabinet  but 
the  country  was  amazed  and  startled,  when,  late  in  June, 
the  President  suddenly  left  Washington.  He  made  a fly- 
ing trip  to  West  Point  where  Scott  was  living  in  virtual  re- 
tirement.^^ What  passed  between  the  two,  those  few  hours 
they  spent  together,  that  twenty-fourth  of  June,  1862,  has 
never  been  divulged.  Did  they  have  any  eyes,  that  day,  for 
the  wonderful  prospect  from  the  high  terrace  of  the  parade 
ground;  for  the  river  so  far  below,  flooring  the  valley 
with  silver;  for  the  mountains  pearl  and  blue?  Did  they 
talk  of  Stanton,  of  his  waywardness,  his  furies?  Of  the 
terrible  Committee?  Of  the  way  Lincoln  had  tied  his  own 
hands,  brought  his  will  to  stalemate,  through  his  recogni- 
tion of  the  unofficial  councils?  Who  knows? 

Idncoln  was  back  in  Washington  the  next  day.  An- 
other day,  and  by  a sweeping  order  he  created  a new  army 
for  the  protection  of  Washington,  and  placed  in  command 
of  it,  a western  general  who  was  credited  with  a brilliant 
stroke  on  the  Mississippi.^^ 

No  one  will  now  defend  the  military  genius  of  John 


242 


LINCOLN 


Pope.  But  when  Lincoln  sent  for  him,  all  the  evidence  j 
to  date  appeared  to  be  in  his  favor.  His  follies  were  yet  J 
to  appear.  And  it  is  more  than  likely  that  in  the  development  I 
of  Lincoln’s  character,  his  appointment  has  a deep  signifi-  J 
cance.  It  appears  to  mark  the  moment  when  Lincoln  broke  < 
out  of  the  cocoon  of  advisement  he  had  spun  unin- 
tentionally around  his  will.  In  the  sorrows  of  the  grim  i 
year,  new  forces  had  been  generated.  New  spiritual  < 
powers  were  coming  to  his  assistance.  At  last,  relatively, 
he  had  found  peace.  Worn  and  torn  as  he  was,  after  his 
long  inv/ard  struggle,  few  bore  so  calmly  as  he  did  the  ; 
distracting  news  from  the  front  in  the  closing  days  of  June 
and  the  opening  days  of  July,  when  Lee  was  driving  his 
whole  strength  like  a superhuman  battering-ram,  straight 
at  the  heart  of  the  wavering  McClellan.  A visitor  at  the 
White  House,  in  the  midst  of  the  terrible  strain  of  the 
Seven  Days,  found  Lincoln  ‘hhin  and  haggard,  but  cheer- 
ful ..  . quite  as  placid  as  usual  ...  his  manner 

was  so  kindly  and  so  free  from  the  ordinary  cocksureness 
of  the  politician,  and  the  vanity  and  self-importance  of 
official  position  that  nothing  but  good  will  was  inspired  by 
his  presence.”^^ 

His  serenity  was  all  the  more  remarkable  as  his  rela- 
tions with  Congress  and  the  Committee  were  fast  approach- 
ing a crisis.  If  McClellan  failed — and  by  the  showing  of 
his  own  despatches,  there  was  every  reason  to  expect  him 
to  fail,  so  besotted  was  he  upon  the  idea  that  no  one  could 
prevail  with  the  force  allowed  him — the  Committee  who 
were  leaders  of  the  congressional  party  against  the  presi- 
dential party  might  be  expected  promptly  to  measure 
strength  with  the  Administration. 

And  McClellan  failed.  At  that  moment  Chandler,  with 


STRUGGLE  TO  CONTROL  THE  ARMY  243 


the  consent  of  the  Committee,  was  making  use  of  its  records 
preparing  a Philippic  against  the  government.  Lincoln, 
acting  on  his  own  initiative,  without  asking  the  Secretary 
of  War  to  accompany  him,  went  immediately  to  the  front. 
He  passed  two  days  questioning  McClellan  and  his  gen- 
erals.^® But  there  was  no  council  of  war.  It  was  a differ- 
ent Lincoln  from  that  other  who,  just  four  months  pre- 
vious, had  called  together  the  general  officers  and  promised 
them  to  abide  by  their  decisions.  He  returned  to  Wash- 
ington without  telling  them  what  he  meant  to  do. 

The  next  day  closed  a chapter  and  opened  a chapter  in 
the  history  of  the  Federal  army.  Stanton’s  brief  and  in- 
glorious career  as  head  of  the  national  forces  came  to  an 
end.  He  fell  back  into  his  rightful  position,  the  Presi- 
dent’s executive  officer  in  military  affairs.  Lincoln  tele- 
graphed another  Western  general,  Halleck,  ordering  him 
to  Washington  as  General-in-Chief.®^  He  then,  for  a sea- 
son, turned  his  whole  attention  from  the  army  to  politics. 
Five  days  after  the  telegram  to  Halleck,  Chandler  in  the 
Senate,  loosed  his  insatiable  temper  in  what  ostensibly  was 
a denunciation  of  McClellan,  what  in  point  of  fact  was  a 
sweeping  arraignment  of  the  military  efficiency  of  the  gov- 
ernment.®^ 


XXII 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 

While  Lincoln  was  slowly  struggling  out  of  his  last 
eclipse,  giving  most  of  his  attention  to  the  army,  the  Con- 
gressional Cabal  was  laboring  assiduously  to  force  the  issue 
upon  slavery.  The  keen  politicians  who  composed  it  saw 
with  unerring  vision  where,  for  the  moment,  lay  their 
opportunity.  They  could  not  beat  the  President  on  any 
one  issue  then  before  the  country.  No  one  faction  was 
strong  enough  to  be  their  stand-by.  Only  by  a combination 
of  issues  and  a coalition  of  factions  could  they  build  up 
an  anti-Lincoln  party,  check-mate  the  Administration,  and 
get  control  of  the  government.  They  were  greatly  assisted 
by  the  fatuousness  of  the  Democrats.  That  party  was  in 
a peculiar  situation.  Its  most  positive  characters,  naturally, 
had  taken  sides  for  or  against  the  government.  The 
powerful  Southerners  who  had  been  its  chief  leaders  were 
mainly  in  the  Confederacy.  Such  Northerners  as  Douglas 
and  Stanton,  and  many  more,  had  gone  over  to  the  Re- 
publicans. Suddenly  the  control  of  the  party  organiza- 
tion had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  second-rate  men.  As  by 
the  stroke  of  an  enchanter’s  wand,  men  of  small  caliber 
who,  had  the  old  conditions  remained,  would  have  lived 
and  died  of  little  consequence  saw  opening  before  them 
the  role  of  leadership.  It  was  too  much  for  their  mental 
poise.  Again  the  subjective  element  in  politics!  The 
Democratic  party  for  the  duration  of  the  war  became  the 

244 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


245 


I 

: organization  of  Little  Men.  Had  they  possessed  any  great 
j leaders,  could  they  have  refused  to  play  politics  and  re- 
sponded to  Lincoln’s  all-parties  policy,  history  might  have 
been  different.  But  they  were  not  that  sort.  Neither  did 
they  have  the  courage  to  go  to  the  other  extreme  and  be- 
come a resolute  opposition  party,  whole-heartedly  and  in- 
telligently against  the  war.  They  equivocated,  they  ob- 
structed, they  professed  loyalty  and  they  practised — it 
would  be  hard  to  say  what!  So  short-sighted  was  their 
political  game  that  its  effect  continually  was  to  play  into 
the  hands  of  their  most  relentless  enemies,  the  grim 
Jacobins. 

Though,  for  a brief  time  while  the  enthusiasm  after 
Sumter  was  still  at  its  height  they  appeared  to  go  along 
with  the  all-parties  program,  they  soon  revealed  their  true 
course.  In  the  autumn  of  1861,  Lincoln  still  had  sufficient 
hold  upon  all  factions  to  make  it  seem  likely  that  his  all- 
parties program  would  be  given  a chance.  The  Repub- 
licans generally  made  overtures  to  the  Democratic  managers, 
offering  to  combine  in  a coalition  party  with  no  plat- 
form but  the  support  of  the  war  and  the  restoration  of 
the  Union.  Here  was  the  test  of  the  organization  of  the 
Little  Men.  The  insignificant  new  managers,  intoxicated 
by  the  suddenness  of  their  opportunity,  rang  false.  They 
rejected  the  all-parties  program  and  insisted  on  maintain- 
ing their  separate  party  formation.^  This  was  a turning 
point  in  Lincoln’s  career.  Though  nearly  two  years  were 
to  pass  before  he  admitted  his  defeat,  the  all-parties  pro- 
gram was  doomed  from  that  hour.  Throughout  the  winter, 
the  Democrats  in  Congress,  though  steadily  ambiguous  in 
their  statements  of  principle,  were  as  steadily  hostile  to 
Lincoln.  If  they  had  any  settled  policy,  it  was  no  more 


246 


LINCOLN 


than  an  attempt  to  hold  the  balance  of  power  among  the  ^ 
warring  factions  of  the  Republicans.  By  springtime  the  i 
game  they  were  playing  was  obvious ; also  its  results.  They  i 
had  prevented  the  President  from  building  up  a strong  : 
Administration  group  wherewith  he  might  have  counter- 
balanced the  Jacobins.  Thus  they  had  released  the 
Jacobins  from  the  one  possible  restraint  that  might  have 
kept  them  from  pursuing  their  own  devices. 

The  spring  of  1862  saw  a general  realignment  of 
factions.  It  was  then  that  the  Congressional  Cabal  won 
its  first  significant  triumph.  Hitherto,  all  the  Republican 
platforms  had  been  programs  of  denial.  A brilliant  new 
member  of  the  Senate,  John  Sherman,  bluntly  told  his  col- 
leagues that  the  Republican  party  had  always  stood  on  .the 
defensive.  That  was  its  weakness.  “I  do  not  know  any 
measure  on  which  it  has  taken  an  aggressive  position.”- 
The  clue  to  the  psychology  of  the  moment  was  in  the  raging 
demand  of  the  masses  for  a program  of  assertion,  for 
aggressive  measures.  The  President  was  trying  to  meet 
tliis  demand  with  his  all-parties  program,  with  his  policy 
of  nationalism,  exclusive  of  everything  else.  And  re- 
cently he  had  added  that  other  assertion,  his  insistence  that 
the  executive  in  certain  respects  was  independent  of  the 
legislative.  Of  his  three  assertions,  one,  the  all-parties 
program,  was  already  on  the  way  to  defeat.  Another, 
nationalism,  as  tlie  President  interpreted  it,  had  alienated 
the  Abolitionists.  The  third,  his  argument  for  himself  as 
tribune,  was  just  what  your  crafty  politician  might  twist, 
pervert,  load  with  false  meanings  to  his  heart’s  content. 
Men  less  astute  than  Chandler  and  Wade  could  not  have 
failed  to  see  where  fortune  pointed.  Their  opportunity 
lay  in  a combination  of  the  two  issues.  Abolition  and  the  re- 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


247 


sistance  to  executive  ‘‘usurpation.”  Their  problem  was  to 
create  an  anti-Lincoln  party  that  should  also  be  a war  party. 
Their  coalition  of  aggressive  forces  must  accept  the  Abo- 
litionists as  its  backbone,  but  it  must  also  include  all 
violent  elements  of  whatever  persuasion,  and  especially  all 
those  that  could  be  wrought  into  fury  on  the  theme  of  the 
President  as  a despot.  Above  all,  their  coalition  must 
absorb  and  then  express  the  furious  temper  so  dear  to 
their  own  hearts  which  they  fondly  believed — mistakenly, 
they  were  destined  to  discover — was  the  temper  of  the 
country. 

It  can  not  be  said  that  this  was  the  Republican  pro- 
gram. The  President’s  program,  fully  as  positive  as  that 
of  the  Cabal,  had  as  good  a right  to  appropriate  the  party 
label — as  events  were  to  show,  a better  right.  But  the 
power  of  the  Cabal  was  very  great,  and  the  following  it 
was  able  to  command  in  the  country  reached  almost  the 
proportions  of  the  terrible.  A factional  name  is  needed. 
For  the  Jacobins,  their  allies  in  Congress,  their  followers 
in  the  country,  from  the  time  they  acquired  a positive 
program,  an  accurate  label  is  the  Vindictives. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  session.  Congress  may  be 
thought  of  as  having — what  Congress  seldom  has — three 
definite  groups.  Right,  Left  and  Center.  The  Right  was 
the  Vindictives ; the  Left,  the  irreconcilable  Democrats ; the 
Center  was  composed  chiefly  of  liberal  Republicans  but 
included  a few  Democrats,  those  who  rebelled  against  the 
political  chicanery  of  the  Little  Men. 

The  policy  of  the  Vindictives  was  to  force  upon  the 
Administration  the  double  issue  of  emancipation  and  the 
supremacy  of  Congress.  Therefore,  their  aim  was  to  pass 
a bill  freeing  the  slaves  on  the  sole  authority  of  a con- 


248 


LINCOLN 


gressional  fiat.  Many  resolutions,  many  bills,  all  having 
this  end  in  view,  were  introduced.  Some  were  buried  in 
committees;  some  were  remade  in  committees  and  sub- 
jected to  long  debate  by  the  Houses;  now  and  then  one  was 
passed  upon.  But  the  spring  wore  through  and  the  sum- 
mer came,  and  still  the  Vindictives  were  not  certainly  in 
control  of  Congress.  No  bill  to  free  slaves  by  congres- 
sional action  secured  a majority  vote.  At  the  same  time  it 
was  plain  that  the  strength  of  the  Vindictives  was  slowly, 
steadily,  growing. 

Outside  Congress,  the  Abolitionists  took  new  hope. 
They  had  organized  a systematic  propaganda.  At  Wash- 
ington, weekly  meetings  were  held  in  the  Smithsonian 
Institute,  where  all  their  most  conspicuous  leaders,  Phillips, 
Emerson,  Brownson,  Garret  Smith,  made  addresses. 
Every  Sunday  a service  was  held  in  the  chamber  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  and  the  sermon  was  almost 
always  a ‘‘terrific  arraignment  of  slavery.”  Their  watch- 
word was  “A  Free  Union  or  Disintegration.”  The  treat- 
ment of  fugitive  slaves  by  commanders  in  the  field  pro- 
duced a clamor.  Lincoln  insisted  on  strict  obedience  to 
the  two  laws,  the  Fugitive  Slave  Act  and  the  First  Confis- 
cation Act.  Abolitionists  sneered  at  “all  this  gabble  about 
the  sacredness  of  the  Constitution.”^  But  Lincoln  was  not 
to  be  moved.  When  General  Hunter,  taking  a leaf  from 
the  book  of  Fremont,  tried  to  force  his  hand,  he  did  not 
hesitate.  Hunter  had  issued  a proclamation  by  which  the 
slaves  in  the  region  where  he  commanded  were  “declared 
forever  free.” 

This  was  in  May  when  Lincoln’s  difficulties  with  Mc- 
Clellan were  at  their  height;  when  the  Committee  was 
zealously  watching  to  catch  him  in  any  sort  of  mistake; 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


249 


ii 


when  the  House  was  within  four  votes  of  a majority  for 
emancipation  by  act  of  Congress;^  when  there  was  no  cer- 
tainty whether  the  country  was  with  him  or  with  the  Vin- 
dictives.  Perhaps  that  new  courage  which  definitely  re- 
vealed itself  the  next  month,  may  be  first  glimpsed  in  the 
proclamation  overruling  Hunter: 

“I  further  make  known  that  whether  it  be  competent 
for  me,  as  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy, 
to  declare  the  slaves  of  any  State  or  States  free,  and 
whether  at  any  time,  in  any  case,  it  shall  have  become  a 
necessity  indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of  the  govern- 
ment to  exercise  such  supposed  power,  are  questions 
which,  under  my  responsibility,  I reserve  to  myself,  and 
which  I can  not  feel  justified  in  leaving  to  the  decision  of 
commanders  in  the  field.”*' 

The  revocation  of  Hunter’s  order  infuriated  the  Abo- 
litionists. It  deeply  disappointed  the  growing  number  who, 
careless  about  slavery,  wanted  emancipation  as  a war  meas-  \ 
ure,  as  a blow  at  the  South.  Few  of  either  of  these  groups^  • v 
noticed  the  implied  hint  that  emancipation  might  come  by  ^ 
executive  action.  Here  was  the  matter  of  the  war  powers 
in  a surprising  form.  However,  it  was  not  unknown  to 
Congress.  Attempts  had  been  made  to  induce  Congress 
to  concede  the  war  powers  to  the  President  and  to  ask,  not 
command,  him  to  use  them  for  the  liberation  of  slaves  in 
the  Seceded  States.  Long  before,  in  a strangely  different 
connection,  such  vehement  Abolitionists  as  Giddings  and 
J.  Q.  Adams  had  pictured  the  freeing  of  slaves  as  a 
natural  incident  of  military  occupation. 

What  induced  Lincoln  to  throw  out  this  hint  of  a pos- 
sible surrender  on  the  subject  of  emancipation?  Again, 
as  so  often,  the  silence  as  to  his  motives  is  unbroken.  How- 


250 


LINCOLN 


ever,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  thinking  on  the  subject 
passed  through  several  successive  stages.  But  all  his 
thinking  was  ruled  by  one  idea.  Any  policy  he  might  ac- 
cept, or  any  refusal  of  policy,  would  be  judged  in  his  own 
mind  by  the  degree  to  which  it  helped,  or  hindered,  the 
national  cause.  Nothing  was  more  absurd  than  the  sneer 
of  the  Abolitionists  that  he  was  ‘"tender”  of  slavery. 
Browning  spoke  for  him  faithfully,  “If  slavery  can  sur- 
vive the  shock  of  war  and  secession,  be  it  so.  If  in  the 
conflict  for  liberty,  the  Constitution  and  the  Union,  it  must 
necessarily  perish,  then  let  it  perish.”  Browning  refused 
to  predict  which  alternative  would  develop.  His  point  was 
that  slaves  must  be  treated  like  other  property.  But,  if 
need  be,  he  would  sacrifice  slavery  as  he  would  sacrifice 
anything  else,  to  save  the  Union.  He  had  no  intention  to 
“protect”  slavery.® 

In  the  first  stage  of  Lincoln's  thinking  on  this  thorny 
subject,  his  chief  anxiety  was  to  avoid  scaring  off  from 
the  national  cause  those  Southern  Unionists  who  were  not 
prepared  to  abandon  slavery.  This  was  the  motive  behind 
his  prompt  suppression  of  Fremont.  It  was  this  that  in- 
spired the  Abolitionist  sneer  about  his  relative  attitude 
toward  God  and  Kentucky.  As  a compromise,  to  cut  the 
ground  from  under  the  Vindictives,  he  had  urged  the  loyal 
Slave  States  to  endorse  a program  of  compensated  emanci- 
pation. But  these  States  were  as  unable  to  see  the  hand- 
writing on  the  wall  as  were  the  Little  Men.  In  the  same 
proclamation  that  overruled  Hunter,  while  hinting  at  what 
the  Administration  might  feel  driven  to  do,  Lincoln  ap- 
pealed again  to  the  loyal  Slave  States  to  accept  compensated 
emancipation. 

“I  do  not  argue,”  said  he,  “I  beseech  you  to  make  the 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


251 

argument  for  yourselves.  You  can  not,  if  you  would,  be 
blind  to  the  signs  of  the  times.  . . . This  proposal 

makes  common  cause  for  a common  object,  casting  no  re- 
proaches upon  any.  It  acts  not  the  Pharisee.  The  change 
it  contemplates  would  come  gently  as  the  dews  of  heaven, 
not  rending  or  wrecking  anything.’’"^ 

Though  Lincoln,  at  this  moment,  was  anxiously  watch- 
ing the  movement  in  Congress  to  force  his  hand,  he  was 
not  apparently  cast  down.  He  was  emerging  from  his 
eclipse.  June  was  approaching  and  with  it  the  final  dawn. 
Furthermore,  when  he  issued  this  proclamation  on  May 
nineteenth,  he  had  not  lost  faith  in  McClellan.  He  was 
still  hoping  for  news  of  a crushing  victory;  of  McClellan’s 
triumphal  entry  into  Richmond.  The  next  two  months 
embraced  both  those  transformations  which  together 
revolutionized  his  position.  He  emerged  from  his  last 
eclipse;  and  McClellan  failed  him. 

When  Lincoln  returned  to  Washington  after  his  two 
days  at  the  front,  he  knew  that  the  fortunes  of  his  Adminis- 
tration were  at  a low  ebb.  Never  had  he  been  derided  in 
Congress  with  more  brazen  injustice.  The  Committee, 
waiting  only  for  McClellan’s  failure,  would  now  unmask 
their  guns — as  Chandler  did,  seven  days  later.  The  line  of 
Vindictive  criticism  could  easily  be  foreshadowed : the 
government  had  failed;  it  was  responsible  for  a colossal 
military  catastrophe;  but  what  could  you  expect  of  an  Ad- 
ministration that  would  not  strike  its  enemies  through 
emancipation;  what  a shattering  demonstration  that  the 
Executive  was  not  a safe  repository  of  the  war  powers. 

Was  there  any  way  to  forestall  or  disarm  the  Vin- 
dictives?  His  silence  gives  us  no  clue  when  or  how  the 
answer  occurred  to  him — by  separating  the  two  issues;  by 


252 


LINCOLN 


carrying  out  the  hint  in  the  May  proclamation ; by  yielding 
on  emancipation  while,  in  the  very  act,  pushing  the  war 
powers  of  the  President  to  their  limit,  declaring  slaves  free 
by  an  executive  order. 

The  importance  of  preserving  the  war  power  of  the. 
President  had  become  a fixed  condition  of  Lincoln’s  thought. 
Already,  he  was  looking  forward  not  only  to  victory  but 
to  the  great  task  that  should  come  after  victory.  He  was 
determined,  if  it  Avere  humanly  possible,  to  keep  that  task 
in  the  hands  of  the  President,  and  out  of  the  hands  of  Con- 
gress. A first  step  had  already  been  taken.  In  portions 
of  occupied  territory,  military  governors  had  been  ap- 
pointed. Simple  as  this  seemed  to  the  careless  observer, 
it  focussed  the  whole  issue.  The  powerful,  legal  mind  of 
Sumner  at  once  perceived  its  significance.  He  denied  in 
the  Senate  the  right  of  the  President  to  make  such  appoint- 
ments; he  besought  the  Senate  to  demand  the  cancellation 
of  such  appointments.  He  reasserted  the  absolute  sover- 
eignty of  Congress.^  It  would  be  a far-reaching  stroke  if 
Lincoln,  in  any  way,  could  extort  from  Congress  acquies- 
cence in  his  use  of  the  war  powers  on  a vast  scale.  Free- 
ing the  slaves  by  executive  order  would  be  such  a use. 

Another  train  of  thought  also  pointed  to  the  same  re- 
sult. Lincoln’s  desire  to  further  the  cause  of  “the  Liberal 
party  throughout  the  world,”  that  desire  which  dated  back 
to  his  early  life  as  a politician,  had  suffered  a disappoint- 
ment. European  Liberals,  whose  political  vision  was  less 
analytical  than  his,  had  failed  to  understand  his  policy. 
The  Confederate  authorities  had  been  quick  to  publish  in 
Europe  his  official  pronouncements  that  the  war  had  been 
undertaken  not  to  abolish  slavery  but  to  preserve  the 
Union.  As  far  back  as  September,  i86i,  Carl  Schurz 


f 


:!  LINCOLN  EMERGES  253 

I wrote  from  Spain  to  Seward  that  the  Liberals  abroad  were 
I disappointed,  that  “the  impression  gained  ground  that  the 
i war  as  waged  by  the  Federal  government,  far  from  being  a 
war  of  principle,  was  merely  a war  of  policy,”  and  “that 
I from  this  point  of  view  much  might  be  said  for  the  South.”^ 
t In  fact,  these  hasty  Europeans  had  found  a definite  ground 
for  complaining  that  the  American  war  was  a reactionary 
I influence.  The  concentration  of  American  cruisers  in  the 
I Southern  blockade  gave  the  African  slave  trade  its  last  lease 
I of  life.  With  no  American  war-ship  among  the  West  Indies, 
the  American  flag  became  the  safeguard  of  the  slaver. 
Englishmen  complained  that  “the  swift  ships  crammed  with 
their  human  cargoes”  had  only  to  “hoist  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  and  pass  under  the  bows  of  our  cruisers.”^^ 
Though  Seward  scored  a point  by  his  treaty  giving  British 
cruisers  the  right  to  search  any  ships  carrying  the  American 
flag,  the  distrust  of  the  foreign  Liberals  was  not  removed. 
They  inclined  to  stand  aside  and  to  allow  the  commercial 
classes  of  France  and  England  to  dictate  policy  toward  the 
United  States.  The  blockade,  by  shutting  off  the  European 
supply  of  raw  cotton,  on  both  sides  the  channel,  was  the 
cause  of  measureless  unemployment,  of  intolerable  misery. 
There  was  talk  in  both  countries  of  intervention.  Napoleon, 
especially,  loomed  large  on  the  horizon  as  a possible  ally 
of  the  Confederacy.  And  yet,  all  this  while,  Lincoln  had 
it  in  his  power  at  any  minute  to  lay  the  specter  of  foreign 
intervention.  A pledge  to  the  “Liberal  party  throughout 
the  world”  that  the  war  would  bring  about  the  destruction 
of  slavery,  and  great  political  powers  both  in  England  and 
in  France  would  at  once  cross  the  paths  of  their  govern- 
ments should  they  move  toward  intervention. 

Weighty  as  were  all  these  reasons  for  a change  of 


254 


LINCOLN 


^ policy — turning  the  flank  of  the  Vindictives  on  the  war 
powers,  committing  the  Abolitionists  to  the  Administra- 
tion, winning  over  the  European  Liberals — there  was  a 
fourth  reason  which,  very  probabl}^  weighed  upon  Lincoln 
most  powerfully  of  them  all.  Profound  gloom  had  settled 
upon  the  country.  There  was  no  enthusiasm  for  military 
service.  And  Stanton,  who  lacked  entirely  the  psychologic 
vision  of  the  statesman,  had  recently  committed  an  astound- 
ing blunder.  After  a few  months  in  power  he  had  con- 
cluded that  the  government  had  enough  soldiers  and  had 
'^closed  the  recruiting  offices. Why  Lincoln  permitted 
this  singular  proceeding  has  never  been  satisfactorily  ex- 
plained.* Now  he  was  reaping  the  fruits.  A defeated 
army,  a hopeless  country,  and  no  prospect  of  swift  rein- 
forcement! If  a shift  of  ground  on  the  question  of  emanci- 
pation would  arouse  new  enthusiasm,  bring  in  a new  stream 
of  recruits,  Lincoln  was  prepared  to  shift. 

But  even  in  this  dire  extremity,  he  would  not  give  way 
without  a last  attempt  to  save  his  earlier  policy.  On  July 
twelfth,  he  called  together  the  Senators  and  Representatives 
of  the  Border  States.  He  read  to  them  a written  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  compensated  emancipation,  the  Federal 
government  to  assist  the  States  in  providing  funds  for  the 
purpose. 

''Let  the  States  that  are  in  rebellion,”  said  he,  "see  defi- 
nitely and  certainly  that  in  no  event  will  the  States  you 
represent  ever  join  their  proposed  confederacy,  and  they 

* Stanton’s  motive  was  probably  economy.  Congress  was  terrified 
by  the  expense  of  the  war.  The  Committee  was  deeply  alarmed  over 
the  political  effect  of  war  taxation.  They  and  Stanton  were  all  con- 
vinced that  McClellan  was  amply  strong  enough  to  crush  the  Con- 
federacy. 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


255 


can  not  much  longer  maintain  the  contest.  But  you  can 
not  divest  them  of  their  hope  to  ultimately  have  you  with 
them  so  long  as  you  show  a determination  to  perpetuate 
the  institution  within  your  own  States.  ...  If  the  war 
continues  long,  as  it  must  if  the  object  be  not  sooner  at- 
tained, the  institution  in  your  States  will  be  extinguished 
by  mere  friction  and  abrasion — by  the  mere  incidents  of 
war.  . . . Our  common  country  is  in  great  peril,  de- 

manding the  loftiest  views  and  boldest  action  to  bring  it 
speedy  relief.  Once  relieved  its  form  of  government  is 
saved  to  the  world,  its  beloved  history  and  cherished 
memories  are  vindicated,  and  its  happy  future  fully  assured 
and  rendered  inconceivably  grand. 

He  made  no  impression.  They  would  commit  them- 
selves to  nothing.  Lincoln  abandoned  his  earlier  policy. 

Of  what  happened  next,  he  said  later,  "Tt  had  got  to 
be.  . . . Things  had  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse  until 

I felt  that  we  had  reached  the  end  of  our  rope  on  the  plan 
of  operations  we  had  been  pursuing;  that  we  had  about 
played  our  last  card  and  must  change  our  tactics  or  lose 
the  game.  I now  determined  upon  the  adoption  of  the 
emancipation  policy.  . . 

The  next  day  he  confided  his  decision  and  his  reasons 
to  Seward  and  Welles.  Though  “this  was  a new  departure 
for  the  President,”  both  these  Ministers  agreed  with  him 
that  the  change  of  policy  had  become  inevitable. 

Lincoln  was  now  entirely  himself,  astute  in  action  as 
well  as  bold  in  thought.  He  would  not  disclose  his  change 
of  policy  while  Congress  was  in  session.  Should  he  do 
so,  there  was  no  telling  what  attempt  the  Cabal  would  make 
to  pervert  his  intention,  to  twist  his  course  into  the  sem- 
blance of  an  acceptance  of  the  congressional  theory.  He 


256 


LINCOLN 


laid  the  matter  aside  until  Congress  should  be  temporarily 
out  of  the  way,  until  the  long  recess  between  July  and  De- 
cember should  have  begun.  In  this  closing  moment  of 
the  second  session  of  the  Thirty-Seventh  Congress,  which 
is  also  the  opening  moment  of  the  great  period  of  Lincoln, 
the  feeling  against  him  in  Congress  was  extravagantly 
bitter.  It  caught  at  anything  with  which  to  make  a point. 
A disregard  of  technicalities  of  procedure  was  magnified 
into  a serious  breach  of  constitutional  privilege.  Reviving 
the  question  of  compensated  emancipation,  Lincoln  had  sent 
a special  message  to  both  Houses,  submitting  the  text  of  a 
compensation  bill  which  he  urged  them  to  consider.  His 
enemies  raised  an  uproar.  The  President  had  nO'  right  to 
introduce  a bill  into  Congress ! Dictator  Lincoln  was  try- 
ing in  a new  way  to  put  Congress  under  his  thumb. 

In  the  last  week  of  the  session,  Lincoln’s  new  boldness 
brought  the  old  relation  between  himself  and  Congress  to 
a dramatic  close.  The  Second  Confiscation  Bill  had  long 
been  under  discussion.  Lincoln  believed  that  some  of  its 
provisions  were  inconsistent  with  the  spirit  at  least  of  our 
fundamental  law.  Though  its  passage  was  certain,  he  pre- 
pared a veto  message.  He  then  permitted  the  congres- 
sional leaders  to  know  what  he  intended  to  do  when  the 
bill  should  reach  him.  Gall  and  wormwood  are  weak  terms 
for  the  bitterness  that  may  be  tasted  in  the  speeches  of  the 
Vindictives.  When,  in  order  to  save  the  bill,  a resolution 
was  appended  purging  it  of  the  interpretation  which  Lin- 
coln condemned,  Trumbull  passionately  declared  that  Con- 
gress was  being  ‘‘coerced”  by  the  President.  “No  one  at  a 
distance,”  is  the  deliberate  conclusion  of  Julian  who  was 
present,  “could  have  formed  any  adequate  conception  of 
the  hostility  of  the  Republican  members  toward  Lincoln 


LINCOLN  EMERGES 


257 


, _2it  the  final  adjournment,  while  it  was  the  belief  of  many  ' 
I • that  our  last  session  of  Congress  had  been  held  in  Wash- 
: ington.  Mr.  Wade  said  the  country  was  going  to  hell,  and 
I C that  the  scenes  witnessed  in  the  French  Revolution  were 
!?  nothing  in  comparison  with  what  we  should  see  here/’^® 
Lincoln  endured  the  rage  of  Congress  in  unwavering 
serenity.  On  the  last  day  of  the  session,  Congress  sur- 
rendered and  sent  to  him  both  the  Confiscation  Act  and 
the  explanatory  resolution.  Thereupon,  he  indulged  in 
what  must  have  seemed  to  those  fierce  hysterical  enemies 
, of  his  a wanton  stroke  of  irony.  He  sent  them  along  with 
, his  approval  of  the  bill  the  text  of  the  veto  message  he 
would  have  sent  had  they  refused  to  do  what  he  wanted.^^ 
There  could  be  no  concealing  the  fact  that  the  President 
had  matched  his  will  against  the  will  of  Congress,  and  that 
the  President  had  had  his  way. 

Out  of  this  strange  period  of  intolerable  confusion,  a 
gigantic  figure  had  at  last  emerged.  The  outer  and  the 
inner  Lincoln  had  fused.  He  was  now  a coherent  person- 
ality, masterful  in  spite  of  his  gentleness,  with  his  own 
peculiar  fashion  of  self-reliance,  having  a policy  of  his  own 
devising,  his  colors  nailed  upon  the  masthead. 


AUDACITIES 


XXIII 


THE  MYSTICAL  STATESMAN 

Lincoln's  final  emergence  was  a deeper  thing  than 
merely  the  consolidation  of  a character,  the  transformation 
of  a dreamer  into  a man  of  action.  The  fusion  of  the 
outer  and  the  inner  person  was  the  result  of  a profound 
interior  change.  Those  elements  of  mysticism  which  were 
in  him  from  the  first,  which  had  gleamed  darkly  through 
such  deep  overshadowing,  were  at  last  established  in  their 
permanent  form.  The  political  tension  had  been  matched 
by  a spiritual  tension  with  personal  sorrow  as  the  connect- 
ing link.  In  a word,  he  had  found  his  religion. 

Lincoln’s  instinctive  reticence  was  especially  guarded, 
as  any  one  might  expect,  in  the  matter  of  his  belief.  Conse- 
quently, the  precise  nature  of  it  has  been  much  discussed. 
As  we  have  seen,  the  earliest  current  report  charged  him 
with  deism.  The  devoted  Herndon,  himself  an  agnostic, 
eagerly  claims  his  hero  as  a member  of  the  noble  army  of 
doubters.  Elaborate  arguments  have  been  devised  in  re- 
buttal. The  fault  on  both  sides  is  in  the  attempt  to  base 
an  impression  on  detached  remarks  and  in  the  further  error 
of  treating  all  these  fragments  as  of  one  time — or  more 
truly,  as  of  no  time,  as  if  his  soul  were  a philosopher  of 
the  absolute,  speaking  oracularly  out  of  a void.  It  is  like 
the  vicious  reasoning  that  tortures  systems  of  theology  out 
of  disconnected  texts. 


261 


262 


LINCOLN 


Lincoln’s  religious  life  reveals  the  same  general  divi- 
sions that  are  to  be  found  in  his  active  life:  from  the  be- 
ginning to  about  the  time  of  his  election;  from  the  close 
of  i860  to  the  middle  of  1862;  the  remainder. 

Of  his  religious  experience  in  the  first  period,  very  little 
is  definitely  known.  What  glimpses  we  have  of  it  both 
fulfill  and  contradict  the  forest  religion  that  was  about  him 
in  his  youth.  The  superstition,  the  faith  in  dreams,  the 
dim  sense  of  another  world  surrounding  this,  the  belief  in 
communion  between  the  two,  these  are  the  parts  of  him 
that  are  based  unchangeably  in  the  forest  shadows.  But 
those  other  things,  the  spiritual  passions,  the  ecstasies,  the 
vague  sensing  of  the  terribleness  of  the  creative  powers, — 
to  them  always  he  made  no  response.  And  the  crude 
philosophizing  of  the  forest  theologians,  their  fiercely  simple 
dualism — God  and  Satan,  thunder  and  lightning,  the 
eternal  war  in  the  heavens,  the  eternal  lake  of  fire — it 
meant  nothing  to  him.  Like  all  the  furious  things  of  life, 
evil  appeared  to  him  as  mere  negation,  a mysterious  fool- 
ishness he  could  not  explain.  His  aim  was  to  forget  it. 
Goodness  and  pity  were  the  active  elements  that  roused  him 
to  think  of  the  other  world;  especially  pity.  The  burden 
of  men’s  tears,  falling  ever  in  the  shadows  at  the  backs  of 
things — ^this  was  the  spiritual  horizon  from  which  he  could 
not  escape.  Out  of  the  circle  of  that  horizon  he  had  to 
rise  by  spiritual  apprehension  in  order  to  be  consoled.  And 
there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  at  times,  if  not  invariably, 
in  his  early  days,  he  did  rise;  he  found  consolation.  But 
it  was  all  without  form.  It  was  a sentiment,  a mood, 
philosophically  bodiless.  This  indefinite  mysticism  was 
the  real  heart  of  the  forest  world,  closer  than  hands  or  feet, 
but  elusive,  incapable  of  formulation,  a presence,  not  an 


THE  MYSTICAL  STATESMAN 


263 


idea.  Before  the  task  of  expressing  it,  the  forest  mystic 
stood  helpless.  Just  what  it  was  that  he  felt  impinging 
upon  him  from  every  side  he  did  not  know.  He  was  like  a 
sensitive  man,  neither  scientist  nor  poet,  in  the  midst  of  a 
night  of  stars.  The  reality  of  his  experience  gave  him  no 
power  either  to  explain  or  to  state  it. 

There  is  little  reason  to  suppose  that  Lincoln’s  religious 
experience  previous  to  i860  was  more  than  a recurrent 
visitor  in  his  daily  life.  He  has  said  as  much  himself.  He 
told  his  friend  Noah  Brooks  “he  did  not  remember  any 
precise  time  when  he  passed  through  any  special  change  of 
purpose,  or  of  heart,  but  he  would  say  that  his  own  election 
to  office  and  the  crisis  immediately  following,  influentially 
determined  him  in  what  he  called  ‘a  process  of  crystalliza- 
tion’ then  going  on  in  his  mind.”^ 

It  was  the  terrible  sense  of  need — the  humility,  the  fear 
that  he  might  not  be  equal  to  the  occasion — that  searched 
his  soul,  that  bred  in  him  the  craving  for  a spiritual  up- 
holding which  should  be  constant.  And  at  this  crucial 
moment  came  the  death  of  his  favorite  son.  “In  the 
lonely  grave  of  the  little  one  lay  buried  Mr.  Lincoln’s  fond- 
est hopes,  and  strong  as  he  was  in  the  matter  of  self-con- 
trol, he  gave  way  to  an  overmastering  grief  which  became 
at  length  a serious  menace  to  his  health.”^  Though  first- 
hand accounts  differ  as  to  just  how  he  struggled  forth  out 
of  this  darkness,  all  agree  that  the  ordeal  was  very  severe. 
Tradition  makes  the  crisis  a visit  from  the  Reverend 
Francis  Vinton,  rector  of  Trinity  Church,  New  York,  and 
his  eloquent  assertion  of  the  faith  in  immortality,  his  appeal 
to  Lincoln  to  remember  the  sorrow  of  Jacob  over  the  loss 
of  Joseph,  to  rise  by  faith  out  of  his  own  sorrow  even  as 
the  patriarch  rose.^ 


264 


LINCOLN 


Though  Lincoln  succeeded  in  putting  his  grief  behind 
him,  he  never  forgot  it.  Long  afterward,  he  called  the 
attention  of  Colonel  Cannon  to  the  lines  in  King  John: 

‘‘And  Father  Cardinal,  I have  heard  you  say 
That  we  shall  see  and  know  our  friends  in  heaven; 

If  that  be  true,  I shall  see  my  boy  again.’* 

“Colonel,”  said  he,  “did  you  ever  dream  of  a lost 
friend,  and  feel  that  you  were  holding  sweet  communion 
with  that  friend,  and  yet  have  a sad  consciousness  that  it 
was  not  a reality?  Just  so,  I dream  of  my  boy,  Willie.” 
And  he  bent  his  head  and  burst  into  tears.^ 

As  he  rose  in  the  sphere  of  statecraft  with  such  ap- 
parent suddenness  out  of  the  doubt,  hesitation,  self-distrust 
of  the  spring  of  1862  and  in  the  summer  found  himself 
politically,  so  at  the  same  time  he  found  himself  religiously. 
During  his  later  life  though  the  evidences  are  slight,  they 
are  convincing.  And  again,  as  always,  it  is  not  a violent 
change  that  takes  place,  but  merely  a better  harmonization 
of  the  outer  and  less  significant  part  of  him  with  the  inner 
and  more  significant.  His  religion  continues  to  resist  in- 
tellectual formulation.  He  never  accepted  any  definite 
creed.  To  the  problems  of  theology,  he  applied  the  same 
sort  of  reasoning  that  he  applied  to  the  problems  of  the 
law.  He  made  a distinction,  satisfactory  to  himself  at 
least,  between  the  essential  and  the  incidental,  and  rejected 
everything  that  did  not  seem  to  him  altogether  essential. 

In  another  negative  way  his  basal  part  asserted  itself. 
Just  as  in  all  his  official  relations  he  was  careless  of  ritual, 
so  in  religion  he  was  not  drawn  to  its  ritualistic  forms. 
Again,  the  forest  temper  surviving,  changed,  into  such  dif- 
ferent conditions!  Real  and  subtle  as  is  the  ritualistic 


THE  MYSTICAL  STATESMAN 


265 


element,  not  only  in  religion  but  in  life  generally,  one  may 
doubt  whether  it  counts  for  much  among  those  who  have 
been  formed  mainly  by  the  influences  of  nature.  It  im- 
plies more  distance  between  the  emotion  and  its  source, 
more  need  of  stimulus  to  arouse  and  organize  emotion, 
than  the  children  of  the  forest  are  apt  to  be  aware  of. 
To  invoke  a philosophical  distinction,  illumination  rather 
than  ritualism,  the  tense  but  variable  concentration  on  a 
result,  not  the  ordered  mode  of  an  approach,  is  what  dis- 
tinguishes such  characters  as  Lincoln.  It  was  this  that 
made  him  careless  of  form  in  all  the  departments  of  life. 
It  was  one  reason  why  McClellan,  born  ritualist  of  the 
pomp  of  war,  could  never  overcome  a certain  dislike,  or 
at  least  a doubt,  of  him. 

Putting  together  his  habit  of  thinking  only  in  essentials 
and  his  predisposition  to  neglect  form,  it  is  not  strange 
that  he  said:  ‘T  have  never  united  myself  to  any  church 
because  I have  found  difficulty  in  giving  my  assent,  with- 
out mental  reservation,  to  the  long,  complicated  statements 
of  Christian  doctrine  which  characterize  their  Articles  of 
Belief  and  Confessions  of  Faith.  When  any  church  will 
inscribe  over  its  altar,  as  its  sole  qualification  for  mem- 
bership, the  Savior’s  condensed  statement  of  the  substance 
of  both  Law  and  Gospel,  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy 
God,  with  all  thy  heart  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with 
all  thy  mind,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,’  that  church 
will  I join  with  all  my  heart  and  with  all  my  soul.”^ 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  his  religion  was  mere 
ethics.  It  had  three  cardinal  possessions.  The  sense  of 
God  is  through  all  his  later  life.  It  appears  incidentally 
in  hisj  state  papers,  clothed  with  language  which,  in  so 
deeply  sincere  a man,  must  be  taken  literally.  He  believed 


266 


LINCOLN 


in  prayer,  in  the  reality  of  communion  with  the  Divine. 
His  third  article  was  immortality. 

At  Washington,  Lincoln  was  a regular  attendant,  though 
not  a communicant,  of  the  New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian 
Church.  With  the  Pastor,  the  Reverend  P.  D.  Gurley, 
he  formed  a close  friendship.  Many  hours  they  passed 
in  intimate  talk  uponi  religious  subjects,  especially  upon 
the  question  of  immortality.®  To  another  pious  visitor  he 
said  earnestly,  ‘T  hope  I am  a Christian.’’^  Could  any- 
thing but  the  most  secure  faith  have  written  this  ‘‘Meditation 
on  the  Divine  Wiir'  which  he  set  down  in  the  autumn 
of  1862  for  no  eye  but  his  own:  “The  will  of  God  pre- 
vails. In  great  contests  each  party  claims  to  act  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  will  of  God.  Both  may  be,  and  one  must 
be,  wrong.  God  can  not  be  for  and  against  the  same  thing 
at  the  same  time.  In  the  present  civil  war  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  God's  purpose  is  something  different  from  the 
purpose  of  either  party;  and  yet  the  human  instrumentali- 
ties, working  just  as  they  do,  are  of  the  best  adaptation  to 
effect  His  purpose.  I am  almost  ready  to  say  that  this  is 
probably  true;  that  God  wills  this  contest,  and  wills  that 
it  shall  not  end  yet.  By  His  mere  great  power  on  the  minds 
of  the  now  contestants.  He  could  have  either  saved  or  de- 
stroyed the  Union  without  a human  contest.  Yet  the  con- 
test began.  And,  having  begun.  He  could  give  the  final 
victory  to  either  side  any  day.  Yet  the  contest  proceeds.”^ 

His  religion  flowered  in  his  later  temper.  It  did  not, 
to  be  sure,  overcome  his  melancholy.  That  was  too  deeply 
laid.  Furthermore,  we  fail  to  discover  in  the  surviving 
evidences  any  certainty  that  it  was  a glad  phase  of  religion. 
Neither  the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  wild  women,  which  his 
mother  had;  nor  the  placid  joy  of  the  ritualist,  which  he 


THE  MYSTICAL  STATESMAN 


267 


did  not  understand;  nor  those  other  variants  of  the  joy 
of  faith,  were  included  in  his  portion.  It  was  a lofty  but 
grave  religion  that  matured  in  his  final  stage.  Was  it  due 
to  far-away  Puritan  ancestors?  Had  austere,  reticent  Iron- 
sides, sure  of  the  Lord,  but  taking  no  liberties  with  their 
souls,  at  last  found  out  their  descendant?  It  may  be. 
Cromwell,  in  some  ways,  was  undeniably  his  spiritual  kins- 
man. In  both,  the  same  aloofness  of  soul,  the  same  indiffer- 
ence to  the  judgments  of  the  world,  the  same  courage,  the 
same  fatalism,  the  same  encompassment  by  the  shadow  of 
the  Most  High.  Cromwell,  in  his  best  mood,  had  he  been 
gifted  with  Lincoln’s  literary  power,  could  have  written 
the  Fast  Day  Proclamation  of  1863  which  is  Lincoln’s  most 
distinctive  religious  fragment. 

However,  Lincoln’s  gloom  had  in  it  a correcting  ele- 
ment which  the  old  Puritan  gloom  appears  to  have  lacked. 
It  placed  no  veto  upon  mirth.  Rather,  it  valued  mirth  as 
its  own  redeemer.  And  Lincoln’s  growth  in  the  religious 
sense  was  not  the  cause  of  any  diminution  of  his  surface 
hilarity.  Pie  saved  himself  from  what  otherwise  would 
have  been  intolerable  melancholy  by  seizing,  regardless  of 
the  connection,  anything  whatsoever  that 'savored  of  the 
comic. 

His  religious  security  did  not  destroy  his  superstition. 
He  continued  to  believe  that  he  would  die  violently  at  the 
end  of  his  career  as  President.  But  he  carried  that  belief 
almost  with  gaiety.  He  refused  to  take  precautions  for 
his  safety.  Long  lonely  rides  in  the  dead  of  night;  night 
walks  with  a single  companion,  were  constant  anxieties  to 
his  intimates.  To  the  President,  their  fears  were  childish. 
Although  in  the  sensibilities  he  could  suffer  all  he  had  ever 
suffered,  and  more;  in  the  mind  he  had  attained  that  high 


268 


LINCOLN 


serenity  in  which  there  can  be  no  flagging  of  effort  be- 
cause of  the  conviction  that  God  has  decreed  one’s  work; 
no  failure  of  confidence  because  of  the  twin  conviction 
that  somehow,  somewhere,  all  things  work  together  for 
good.  “I  am  glad  of  this  interview,”  he  said  in  reply  to 
a deputation  of  visitors,  in  September,  1862,  “and  glad 
to  know  that  I have  your  sympathy  and  your  prayers.  . . . 
I happened  to  be  placed,  being  a humble  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  as  I am,  and  as  we  all  are, 
to  work  out  His  great  purpose.  ...  I have  sought  His 
aid ; but  if  after  endeavoring  to  do  my  best  in  the  light  He 
affords  me,  I find  my  efforts  fail,  I must  believe  that  for 
some  purpose  unknown  to  me  He  wills  it  otherwise.  If 
I had  my  way,  this  war  would  never  have  commenced.  If 
I had  been  allowed  my  way,  this  war  would  have  been 
ended  before  this;  but  it  still  continues  and  we  must  be- 
lieve that  He  permits  it  for  some  wise  purpose  of  His  own, 
mysterious  and  unknown  to  us;  and  though  with  our  lim- 
ited understandings  we  may  not  be  able  to  comprehend  it, 
yet  we  can  not  but  believe  that  He  who  made  the  world 
still  governs  it.”® 


XXIV 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 

On  July  22,  1862,  there  was  a meeting  of  the  Cabinet. 
The  sessions  of  Lincoln’s  Council  were  the  last  word  for 
informality.  The  President  and  the  Ministers  interspersed 
their  great  affairs  with  mere  talk,  story-telling,  gossip. 
With  one  exception  they  were  all  lovers  of  their  own  voices, 
especially  in  the  telling  of  tales.  Stanton  was  the  excep- 
tion. Gloomy,  often  in  ill-health,  innocent  of  humor,  he 
glowered  when  the  others  laughed.  When  the  President,- 
instead  of  proceeding  at  once  to  business,  would  pull  out 
of  his  pocket  the  latest  volume  of  Artemus  Ward,  the 
irate  War  Minister  felt  that  the  overthrow  of  the  nation 
was  impending.  But  in  this  respect,  the  President  was 
incorrigible.  He  had  been  known  to  stop  the  line  of  his 
guests  at  a public  levee,  while  he  talked  for  some  five  min- 
utes in  a whisper  to  an  important  personage;  and  though 
all  the  room  thought  that  Jupiter  was  imparting  state  se- 
crets, in  point  of  fact,  he  was  making  sure  of  a good  story 
the  great  man  had  told  him  a few  days  previous.^  His 
Cabinet  meetings  were  equally  careless  of  social  form.  The 
Reverend  Robert  Collyer  was  witness  to  this  fact  in  a 
curious  way.  Strolling  through  the  White  House  grounds, 
'‘his  attention  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  apparition  of 
three  pairs  of  feet  resting  on  the  ledge  of  an  open  window 
in  one  of  the  apartments  of  the  second  story  and  plainly 
visible  from  below.”  He  asked  a gardener  Tor  an  explana- 

269 


270 


LINCOLN 


tion.  The  brush  reply  was  : “Why,  you  old  fool,  that’s  the 
Cabinet  that  is  a-settin’,  and  them  thar  big  feet  are  ole 

Abe’s.”2 

When  the  Ministers  assembled  on  July  twenty-second 
they  had  no  intimation  that  this  was  to  be  a record  session. 
Imagine  the  astonishment  when,  in  his  usual  casual  way, 
though  with  none  of  that  hesitancy  to  which  they  had  grown 
accustomed,  Lincoln  announced  his  new  policy,  adding  that 
he  “wished  it  understood  that  the  question  was  settled  in  his 
own  mind;  that  he  had  decreed  emancipation  in  a certain 
contingency  and  the  responsibility  of  the  measure  was  his.”^ 
President  and  Cabinet  talked  it  over  in  their  customary 
offhand  way,  and  Seward  made  a suggestion  that  instantly 
riveted  Lincoln’s  attention.  Seward  thought  the  moment 
was  ill-chosen.  “If  the  Proclamation  were  issued  now,  it 
would  be  received  and  considered  as  a despairing  cry — a 
shriek  from  and  for  the  Administration,  rather  than  for 
freedom.”^  He  added  the  picturesque  phrase,  “The  gov- 
ernment stretching  forth  its  hands  to  Ethiopia,  instead  of 
Ethiopia  stretching  forth  her  hands  to  the  government.” 
This  idea  struck  Lincoln  with  very  great  force.  It  was  an 
aspect  of  the  case  “vdiich  he  had  entirely  overlooked.”® 
He  accepted  Seward’s  advice,  laid  aside  the  proclamation  he 
had  drafted  and  turned  again  with  all  his  energies  to  the 
organization  of  victory. 

The  next  day  Halleck  arrived  at  Washington.  He  was 
one  of  Lincoln’s  mistakes.  Llowever,  in  his  new  mood, 
Lincoln  was  resolved  to  act  on  his  own  opinion  of  the 
evidence  before  him,  especially  in  estimating  men.  It  is 
just  possible  that  this  epoch  of  his  audacities  began  in  a 
reaction;  that  after  too  much  self-distrust,  he  went  briefly 
to  the  other  extreme,  indulging  in  too  much  self-confidence. 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 


271 


Be  that  as  it  may,  he  had  formed  exaggerated  opinions  of 
both  these  Western  generals,  Halleck  and  Pope.  Somehow, 
in  the  brilliant  actions  along  the  Mississippi  they  had  ab- 
sorbed far  more  than  their  fair  share  of  credit.  Particu- 
larly, Lincoln  went  astray  with  regard  to  Pope.  Doubtless 
a main  reason  why  he  accepted  the  plan  of  campaign  sug- 
gested by  Halleck  was  the  opportunit}^  which  it  offered  to 
Pope.  Perhaps,  too,  the  fatality  in  McClellan’s  character 
turned  the  scale.  He  begged  to  be  left  where  he  was  with 
his  base  on  James  River,  and  to  be  allowed  to  renew  the 
attack  on  Richmond.  But  he  did  not  take  the  initiative. 
The  government  must  swiftly  hurry  up  reinforcements,  and 
then — the  old,  old  story!  Obviously,  it  was  a question  at 
Washington  either  of  superseding  McClellan  and  leaving 
the  army  where  it  was,  or  of  shifting  the  army  to  some 
other  commander  without  in  so  many  words  disgracing 
McClellan.  Halleck’ s approval  of  the  latter  course  jumped 
with  two  of  Lincoln’s  impulses — ^liis  trust  in  Pope,  his 
reluctance  to  disgrace  McClellan.  Orders  were  issued  trans- 
ferring the  bulk  of  the  army  of  the  Potomac  to  the  new 
army  of  Virginia  lying  south  of  Washington  under  the 
command  of  Pope.  McClellan  was  instructed  to  withdraw 
his  remaining  forces  from  the  Peninsula  and  retrace  his 
course  up  the  Potomac.® 

Lincoln  had  committed  one  of  his  worst  blunders. 
Herndon  has  a curious,  rather  subtle  theory  that  while  Lin- 
coln’s judgments  of  men  in  the  aggregate  were  uncannily 
sure,  his  judgments  of  men  individually  were  unreliable. 
It  suggests  the  famous  remark  of  Goethe  that  his  views  of 
women  did  not  derive  from  experience ; that  they  antedated 
experience;  and  that  he  corrected  experience  by  them.  Of 
the  confessed  artist  this  may  be  true.  The  literary  concept 


272 


LINCOLN 


which  the  artist  works  with  is  often,  apparently,  a more 
constant,  more  fundamental,  more  significant  thing,  than 
is  the  broken,  mixed,  inconsequential  impression  out  of 
which  it  has  been  wrought.  Which  seems  to  explain  why 
some  of  the  writers  who  understand  human  nature  so  well 
in  their  books,  do  not  always  understand  people  similarly 
well  in  life.  And  always  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Lin- 
coln was  made  an  artist  by  nature,  and  made  over  into  a 
man  of  action  by  circumstance.  If  Herndon’s  theory  has 
any  value  it  is  in  asserting  his  occasional  danger — by  no 
means  a constant  danger — of  forming  in  his  mind  images 
of  men  that  were  more  significant  than  it  was  possible  for 
the  men  themselves  to  be.  John  Pope  was  perhaps  his 
worst  instance.  An  incompetent  general,  he  was  capable  of 
things  still  less  excusable.  Just  after  McClellan  had  so 
tragically  failed  in  the  Seven  Days,  when  Lincoln  was  at 
the  front.  Pope  was  busy  with  the  Committee,  assuring 
them  virtually  that  the  war  had  been  won  in  the  West,  and 
that  only  McClellan’s  bungling  had  saved  the  Confederacy 
from  speedy  death.'^  But  somehow  Lincoln  trusted  him, 
and  continued  to  trust  him  even  after  he  had  proved  his 
incompetency  in  the  catastrophe  at  Manassas. 

During  August,  Pope  marched  gaily  southward  issuing 
orders  that  were  shot  through  with  bad  rhetoric,  mixing 
up  army  routine  and  such  irrelevant  matters  as  '‘the  first 
blush  of  dawn.” 

Lincoln  was  confident  of  victory.  And  after  victory 
would  come  the  new  policy,  the  dissipation  of  the  European 
storm-cloud,  the  break-up  of  the  vindictive  coalition  of 
Jacobins  and  Abolitionists,  the  new  enthusiasm  for  the 
war.  But  of  all  this,  the  incensed  Abolitionists  received 
no  hint.  The  country  rang  with  their  denunciations  of 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 


273 


the  President.  At  length,  Greeley  printed  in  The  Tribune 
an  open  letter  called  “The  Prayer  of  Twenty  Millions.” 
It  was  an  arraignment  of  what  Greeley  chose  to  regard  as 
the  pro-slavery  policy  of  the  Administration.  This  was 
on  August  twentieth.  Lincoln,  in  high  hope  that  a victory 
was  at  hand,  seized  the  opportunity  both  to  hint  to  the 
country  that  he  was  about  to  change  his  policy,  and  to 
state  unconditionally  his  reason  for  changing.  He  replied 
to  Greeley  through  the  newspapers : 

“As  to  the  policy  I ‘seem  to  be  pursuing,’  as  you  say,  I 
have  meant  to  leave  no  one  in  doubt. 

“I  would  save  the  Union.  I would  save  it  the  shortest 
way  under  the  Constitution.  The  sooner  the  national  au- 
thority can  be  restored,  the  nearer  the  Union  will  be  ‘the 
Union  as  it  was.’  If  there  be  those  who  would  not  save 
the  Union  unless  they  could  at  the  same  time  save  slavery, 
I do  not  agree  with  them.  If  there  be  those  who  would 
not  save  the  Union,  unless  they  could  at  the  same  time  de- 
stroy slavery,  I do  not  agree  with  them.  My  paramount 
object  in  this  struggle  is  to  save  the  Union,  and  it  is  not 
either  to  save  or  destroy  slavery.  If  I could  save  the 
Union  without  freeing  any  slave,  I would  do  it;  and  if  I 
could  save  it  by  freeing  all  the  slaves,  I would  do  it;  and 
if  I could  save  it  by  freeing  some  of  the  slaves  and  leaving 
others  alone,  I would  also  do  that.  What  I do  about  slavery 
and  the  colored  race,  I do  because  I believe  it  will  help 
to  save  the  Union;  and  what  I forbear,  I forbear  because 
I do  not  believe  it  would  help  to  save  the  Union.  I shall 
do  less  whenever  I shall  believe  that  what  I am  doing  hurts 
the  cause;  and  I shall  do  more  whenever  I believe  that 
doing  more  will  help  the  cause.”^ 

The  effect  of  this  on  the  Abolitionists  was  only  to  in- 


274 


LINCOLN 


crease  their  rage.  The  President  was  compared  to  Doug- 
las with  his  indifference  whether  slavery  was  voted  “up  or 
down.”^  Lincoln,  now  so  firmly  hopeful,  turned  a deaf 
ear  to  these  railing  accusations.  He  was  intent  upon  watch- 
ing the  army.  It  was  probably  at  this  time  that  he  reached 
an  unfortunate  conclusion  with  regard  to  McClellan.  The 
transfer  of  forces  from  the  James  River  to  northern  Vir- 
ginia had  proceeded  slowly.  It  gave  rise  to  a new  con- 
troversy, a new  crop  of  charges.  McClellan  was  accused 
of  being  dilatory  on  purpose,  of  aiming  to  cause  the  failure 
of  Pope.  Lincoln  accepted,  at  last,  the  worst  view  of  him. 
He  told  Hay  that  “it  really  seemed  that  McClellan  wanted 
Pope  defeated.  . . . The  President  seemed  to  think 

him  a little  crazy.”^^ 

But  still  the  confidence  in  Pope,  marching  so  blithely 
through  “the  blush  of  dawn,”  stood  fast.  If  ever  an  Ad- 
ministration was  in  a fool’s  paradise,  it  was  Lincoln’s,  in 
the  last  few  days  of  August,  while  Jackson  was  stealthily 
carrying  out  his  great  flanking  movement  getting  between 
Pope  and  Washington.  However,  the  suspicious  Stanton 
kept  his  eyes  on  McClellan.  He  decided  that  troops  were 
being  held  back  from  Pope ; and  he  appealed  to  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Cabinet  to  join  with  him  in  a formal  demand 
upon  the  President  for  McClellan’s  dismissal  from  the 
army.  While  the  plan  was  being  discussed,  came  the  ap- 
palling news  of  Pope’s  downfall. 


% The  meeting  of  the  Cabinet,  September  second,  was 
another  revelation  of  the  new  independence  of  the  Presi- 
dent. Three  full  days  had  passed  since  Pope  had  tele- 
graphed that  the  battle  was  lost  and  that  he  no  longer  had 
control  of  his  army.  The  Ministers,  awaiting  the  arrival 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 


275 


of  the  President,  talked  excitedly,  speculating  what  would 
happen  next.  “It  was  stated,”  says  Welles  in  his  diary, 
“that  Pope  was  falling  back,  intending  to  retreat  within  the 
Washington  entrenchments.  . • . Blair,  who  has 
known  him  intimately,  says  he  is  a braggart  and  a liar, 
with  some  courage,  perhaps,  but  not  much  capacity.  The 
general  conviction  is  that  he  is  a failure  here,  and  there  is  a 
belief  . . . that  he  has  not  been  seconded  and  sustained 

as  he  should  have  been  by  McClellan  . . Stanton 

entered;  terribly  agitated.  He  had  news  that  fell  upon  the 
Cabinet  like  a bombshell.  He  said  “in  a suppressed  voice, 
trembling  with  excitement,  he  was  informed  that  McClellan 
had  been  ordered  to  take  command  of  the  forces  in  Wash- 
ington.” 

Never  was  there  a more  tense  moment  in  the  Cabinet 
room  than  when  Lincoln  entered  that  day.  And  all  could 
see  that  he  was  in  deep  distress.  But  he  confirmed  Stanton’s 
information.  That  very  morning  he  had  gone  himself  to 
McClellan’s  house  and  had  asked  him  to  resume  command. 
Lincoln  discussed  McClellan  with  the  Cabinet  quite  simply, 
admitting  all  his  bad  qualities,  but  finding  two  points  in  his 
favor — his  power  of  organization,  and  his  popularity  with 
the  men.^^ 

He  was  still  more  frank  with  his  secretaries.  “ ‘He  has 
acted  badly  in  this  matter,’  Lincoln  said  to  Hay,  ‘but  we 
must  use  wdiat  tools  we  have.  There  is  no  man  in  the 
army  who  can  man  these  fortifications  and  lick  these  troops 
of  ours  into  shape  half  as  well  as  he.’  I spoke  of  the  gen- 
eral feeling  against  McClellan  as  evinced  by  the  President’s 
mail.  He  rejoined:  ‘Unquestionably,  he  has  acted  badly 
toward  Pope;  he  wanted  him  to  fail.  That  is  unpardon- 


276 


LINCOLN 


able,  but  he  is  too  useful  now  to  sacrifice/  At  another 
time,  he  said:  “ ‘If  he  can’t  fight  himself,  he  excels  in  mak- 
ing others  ready  to  fight.’ 

McClellan  justified  Lincoln’s  confidence.  In  this  case, 
Herndon’s  theory  of  Lincoln’s  powers  of  judgment  does 
not  apply.  Though  probably  unfair  on  the  one  point  of 
McClellan’s  attitude  to  Pope,  he  knew  his  man  otherwise. 
Lincoln  had  also  discovered  that  Halleck,  the  veriest  mar- 
tinet of  a general,  was  of  little  value  at  a crisis.  During 
the  next  two  months,  McClellan,  under  the  direct  oversight 
of  the  President,  was  the  organizer  of  victory. 

Toward  the  middle  of  September,  when  Lee  and  McClel- 
lan were  gradually  converging  upon  the  fated  line  of  An- 
tietam  Creek,  Lincoln’s  new  firmness  was  put  to  the  test. 
The  immediate  effect  of  Manassas  was  another,  a still  more 
vehement  outcry  for  an  anti-slavery  policy.  A deputation 
of  Chicago  clergymen  went  to  Washington  for  the  purpose 
of  urging  him  to  make  an  anti-slavery  pronouncement.  The 
journey  was  a continuous  ovation.  If  at  any  time  Lincoln 
was  tempted  to  forget  Seward’s  worldly  wisdom,  it  was 
when  these  influential  zealots  demanded  of  him  to  do  the 
very  thing  he  intended  to  do.  But  it  was  one  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  this  final  Lincoln  that  when  once  he  had  fully 
determined  on  a course  of  action,  nothing  could  deflect 
him.  With  consummate  coolness  he  gave  them  no  new 
light  on  his  purpose.  Instead,  he  seized  the  opportunity 
to  “feel”  the  country.  He  played  the  role  of  advocatiis 
diaboli  arguing  the  case  against  an  emancipation  policy. 
They  met  his  argument  with  great  spirit  and  resolution. 
Taking  them  as  an  index,  there  could  be  little  question  that 
the  country  was  ripe  for  the  new  policy.  At  the  close  of 
tile  interview  Lincoln  allowed  himself  to  jest.  One  of  the 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 


277 


clergymen  dramatically  charged  him  to  give  heed  to  their 
message  as  to  a direct  commission  from  the  Almighty.  “Is 
it  not  odd,”  said  Lincoln,  “that  the  only  channel  he  could 
send  it  was  that  roundabout  route  by  the  awfully  wicked 
city  of  Chicago?”* 

Lincoln’s  pertinacity,  holding  fast  the  program  he  had 
accepted,  came  to  its  reward.  On  the  seventeenth  occurred 
that  furious  carnage  along  the  Antietam  known  as  the  blood- 
iest single  day  of  the  whole  war.  Military  men  have  dis- 
agreed, calling  it  sometimes  a victory,  sometimes  a drawn 
battle.  In  Lincoln’s  political  strategy  the  dispute  is  imma- 
terial. Psychologically,  it  was  a Northern  victory.  The 
retreat  of  Lee  was  regarded  by  the  North  as  the  turn  of 
the  tide.  Lincoln’s  opportunity  had  arrived. 

^ Again,  a unique  event  occurred  in  a Cabinet  meeting. 
On  the  twenty-second  of  September,  with  the  cannon  of 
Antietam  still  ringing  in  their  imagination,  the  Ministers 
were  asked  by  the  President  whether  they  had  seen  the  new 
volume  just  published  by  Artemus  Ward.  As  they  had 
not,  he  produced  it  and  read  aloud  with  evident  relish  one 
of  those  bits  of  nonsense  which,  in  the  age  of  Dickens, 
seemed  funny  enough.  Most  of  the  Cabinet  joined  in  the 
merriment — Stanton,  of  course,  as  always,  excepted.  Lin- 
coln closed  the  book,  pulled  himself  together,  and  became 
serious. 

“Gentlemen,”  said  he,  according  to  the  diary  of  Sec- 
retary Chase,  “I  have,  as  you  are  aware,  thought  a great 

* Reminiscences,  335.  This  retort  is  given  by  Schuyler  Colfax. 
There  are  various  reports  of  what  Lincoln  said.  In  another  version, 
“I  hope  it  will  not  be  irreverent  for  me  to  say  that  if  it  is  probable 
that  God  would  reveal  His  will  to  others  on  a point  so  connected  with 
my  duty,  it  might  be  supposed  He  would  reveal  it  directly  to  me.  . . .” 
Tarbell,  II,  120. 


278 


LINCOLN 


deal  about  the  relation  of  this  war  to  slavery;  and  you  all 
remember  that  several  weeks  ago  I read  you  an  order  I 
had  prepared  on  this  subject,  which,  on  account  of  objec- 
tions made  by  some  of  you,  was  not  issued.  Ever  since, 
my  mind  has  been  much  occupied  with  this  subject,  and  I 
have  thought  all  along  that  the  time  for  acting  on  it  might 
probably  come.  I think  the  time  has  come  now.  I wish  it 
was  a better  time.  I wish  that  we  were  in  a better  condi- 
tion. The  action  of  the  army  against  the  Rebels  has  not 
been  quite  what  I should  have  best  liked.  But  they  have 
been  driven  out  of  Maryland ; and  Pennsylvania  is  no  longer 
in  danger  of  invasion.  When  the  Rebel  army  was  at 
Frederick,  I determined,  as  soon  as  it  should  be  driven  out 
of  Maryland,  to  issue  a proclamation  of  emancipation,  such 
as  I thought  most  likely  to  be  useful.  I said  nothing  to 
any  one,  but  I made  the  promise  to  myself,  and  [hesitating 
a little]  to  my  Maker.  The  Rebel  army  is  now  driven 
out  and  I am  going  to  fulfill  that  promise.  I have  got  you 
together  to  hear  what  I have  written  down.  I do  not  wish 
your  advice  about  the  main  matter,  for  that  I have  deter- 
mined for  myself.  This,  I say  without  intending  anything 
but  respect  for  any  one  of  you.  But  I already  know  the 
views  of  each  on  this  question.  They  have  been  heretofore 
expressed,  and  I have  considered  them  as  thoroughly  and 
as  carefully  as  I can.  What  I have  written  is  that  which 
my  reflections  have  determined  me  to  say.  ...  I must 
do  the  best  I can,  and  bear  the  responsibility  of  taking  the 
course  which  I feel  I ought  to  take.”^^  The  next  day  the 
Proclamation  was  published. 

This  famous  document^®  is  as  remarkable  for  the  parts 
of  it  that  are  now  forgotten  as  for  the  rest.  The  remem- 
bered portion  is  a warning  that  on  the  first  of  January — one 


GAMBLING  IN  GENERALS 


279 


hundred  days  subsequent  to  the  date  of  the  Proclamation — 
“all  persons  held  as  slaves  'within  any  State  or  designated 
part  of  a State,  the  people  whereof  shall  then  be  in  rebellion 
against  the  United  States,  shall  be  then,  thenceforward,  and 
forever  free.’’  The  forgotten  portions  include  four  other 
declarations  of  executive  policy.  Lincoln  promised  that 
“the  Executive  will  in  due  time  recommend  that  all  citizens 
of  the  United  States  who  have  remained  loyal  thereto 
. . . shall  be  compensated  for  all  losses  by  acts  of  the 

United  States,  including  the  loss  of  slaves.”  He  announced 
that  he  would  again  urge  upon  Congress  ‘‘the  adoption  of 
a practical  measure  tendering  pecuniary  aid”  to  all  the  loyal 
Slave  States  that  would  “voluntarily  adopt  immediate  or 
gradual  abolishment  of  slavery  within  their  limits.”  He 
would  continue  to  advise  the  colonization  of  free  Africans 
abroad.  There  is  still  to  be  mentioned  a detail  of  the  Proc- 
lamation which,  except  for  its  historical  setting  in  the 
general  perspective  of  Lincoln’s  political  strategy,  would 
appear  inexplicable.  One  might  expect  in  the  opening  state- 
ment, where  the  author  of  the  Proclamation  boldly  assumes 
dictatorial  power,  an  immediate  linking  of  that  assumption 
with  the  matter  in  hand.  But  this  does  not  happen.  The 
Proclamation  begins  with  the  following  paragraph : 

“I,  Abraham  Lincoln,  President  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  and  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy 
thereof,  do  hereby  proclaim  and  declare  that  hereafter,  as 
heretofore,  the  war  will  be  prosecuted  for  the  object  of 
practically  restoring  the  constitutional  relation  between  the 
United  States  and  each  of  the  States  and  the  people  thereof 
in  which  States  that  relation  is  or  may  be  suspended  or  dis- 
turbed.” 


XXV 


A war  behind  the  scenes 

By  the  autumn  of  1862,  Lincoln  had  acquired  the  same 
political  method  that  Seward  had  displayed  in  the  spring 
of  1861.  What  a chasm  separates  the  two  Lincolns  ! The 
cautious,  contradictory,  almost  timid  statesman  of  the 
Sumter  episode;  the  confident,  unified,  quietly  masterful 
statesman  of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation.  Now,  in 
action,  he  was  capable  of  staking  his  whole  future  on  the 
soundness  of  his  own  thinking,  on  his  own  ability  to  fore- 
cast the  inevitable.  Without  waiting  for  the  results  of  the 
Proclamation  to  appear,  but  in  full  confidence  that  he  had 
driven  a wedge  between  the  Jacobins  proper  and  the  mere 
Abolitionists,  he  threw  down  the  gage  of  battle  on  the  issue 
of  a constitutional  dictatorship.  Two  days  after  issuing 
the  Proclamation  he  virtually  proclaimed  himself  dictator. 
He  did  so  by  means  of  a proclamation  which  divested  the 
whole  American  people  of  the  privileges  of  the  writ  of 
habeas  corpus.  The  occasion  was  the  effort  of  State  gov- 
ernments to  establish  conscription  of  their  militia.  The 
Proclamation  delivered  any  one  impeding  that  attempt  into 
the  hands  of  the  military  authorities  without  trial. 

Here  was  Lincoln’s  final  answer  to  Stevens;  here,  his 
audacious  challenge  to  the  Jacobins.  And  now  appeared 
the  wisdom  of  his  political  strategy,  holding  back  emanci- 
pation until  Congress  was  out  of  the  way.  Had  Congress 
been  in  session  what  a hubbub  would  have  ensued ! 

280 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


2S1 


Chandler,  Wade,  Trumbull,  Sumner,  Stevens,  all  hurrying 
to  join  issue  on  the  dictatorship;  to  get  it  before  the  country 
ahead  of  emancipation.  Rather,  one  can  not  imagine  Lin- 
coln daring  to  play  this  second  card,  so  soon  after  the  first, 
except  with  abundant  time  for  the  two  issues  to  disentangle 
themselves  in  the  public  mind  ere  Congress  met.  And  that 
was  what  happened.  When  the  Houses  met  in  December, 
the  Jacobins  found  their  position  revolutionized.  The 
men  who,  in  July  at  the  head  of  the  Vindictive  coalition, 
dominated  Congress,  were  now  a minority  faction  biting 
their  nails  at  the  President  amid  the  ruins  of  their  coalition. 

There  were  three  reasons  for  this  collapse.  First  of 
all,  the  Abolitionists,  for  the  moment,  were  a faction  by 
themselves.  Six  weeks  had  sufficed  to  intoxicate  them 
with  their  opportunity.  The  significance  of  the  Proclama^ 
tion  had  had  time  to  arise  towering  on  their  spiritual  vision, 
one  of  the  gates  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 

Limited  as  it  was  in  application  who  could  doubt  that, 
Vv^ith  one  condition,  it  doomed  slavery  everywhere.  The 
condition  was  a successful  prosecution  of  the  war,  the 
restoration  of  the  Union.  Consequently,  at  that  moment, 
nothing  that  made  issue  with  the  President,  that  threatened 
any  limitation  of  his  efficiency,  had  the  slightest  chance  of 
Abolitionist  support.  The  one  dread  that  alarmed  the  whole 
Abolitionist  group  was  a possible  change  in  the  President’s 
mood,  a possible  recantation  on  January  first.  In  order  to 
hold  him  to  his  word,  they  were  ready  to  humor  him  as  one 
might  cajole,  or  try  to  cajole,  a monster  that  one  was 
afraid  of.  No  time,  this,  to  talk  to  Abolitionists  about 
strictly  constitutional  issues,  or  about  questions  of  party 
leadership.  Away  with  all  your  “gabble”  about  such  small 
things!  The  Jacobins  saw  the  moving  hand — at  least  for 


282 


LINCOLN 


this  moment — on  the  crumbling  wall  of  the  palace  of  their 
delusion. 

Many  men  who  were  not  Abolitionists  perceived,  before 
Congress  met,  that  Lincoln  had  made  a great  stroke  inter- 
nationally. The  ''Liberal  party  throughout  the  world” 
gave  a cry  of  delight,  and  rose  instantly  to  his  support. 
John  Bright  declared  that  the  Emancipation  Proclamation 
"made  it  impossible  for  England  to  intervene  for  the 
South”  and  derided  "the  silly  proposition  of  the  French 
Emperor  looking  toward  intervention.”^  Bright’s  closest 
friend  in  America  was  Sumner  and  Sumner  was  chairman 
of  the  Senate  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations.  He  under- 
stood the  value  of  international  sentiment,  its  working  im- 
portance, as  good  provincials  like  Chandler  did  not. 
Furthermore,  he  was  always  an  Abolitionist  first  and  a 
Jacobin  second — if  at  all.  From  this  time  forward,  the 
Jacobins  were  never  able  to  count  on  him,  not  even  when 
they  rebuilt  the  Vindictive  Coalition  a year  and  a half  later. 
In  December,  1862,  how  did  they  dare — true  blue  poli- 
ticians that  they  were ! — how  did  they  dare  raise  a constitu- 
tional issue  involving  the  right  of  the  President  to  capture, 
in  the  way  he  had,  international  security? 

The  crowning  irony  in  the  new  situation  of  the  Jacobins 
was  the  revelation  that  they  had  played  unwittingly  into 
the  hands  of  the  Democrats.  Their  short-sighted  astute- 
ness in  tying  up  emancipation  with  the  war  powers  was 
matched  by  an  equal  astuteness  equally  short-sighted.  The 
organization  of  the  Little  Men,  when  it  refused  to  endorse 
Lincoln’s  all-parties  program,  had  found  itself  in  the  absurd 
position  of  a party  without  an  issue.  It  contained,  to  be 
sure,  a large  proportion  of  the  Northerners  who  were 
opposed  to  emancipation.  But  how  could  it  make  an  issue 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


283 


S upon  emancipation,  as  long  as  the  President,  the  object  of 
■:  its  antagonism,  also  refused  to  support  emancipation?  The 
B sole  argument  in  the  Cabinet  against  Lincoln’s  new  policy 
■:  was  that  it  would  give  the  Democrats  an  issue.  Shrewd 
|l  Montgomery  Blair  prophesied  that  on  this  issue  they  could 
B carry  the  autumn  elections  for  Congress.  Lincoln  had  re- 
K plied  that  he  would  take  the  risk.  He  presented  them  with 
H the  issue.  They  promptly  accepted  it.  But  they  did  not 
m stop  there.  They  aimed  to  take  over  the  whole  of  the 
S position  that  had  been  vacated  by  the  collapse  of  the  Vin- 
dictive  Coalition.  By  an  adroit  bit  of  political  legerdemain 
B they  would  steal  their  enemies’  thunder,  reunite  the  emanci- 
B pation  issue  with  the  issue  of  the  war  powers,  reverse  the 
significance  of  the  conjunction,  and,  armed  with  this  double 
^ club,  they  would  advance  from  a new  and  unexpected  angle 
and  win  the  leadership  of  the  country  by  overthrowing  the 
I dictator.  And  this,  they  came  very  near  doing.  On  their 
B double  issue  they  rallied  enough  support  to  increase  their 
I number  in  Congress  by  thirty-three.  Had  not  the  moment 
f been  so  tragic,  nothing  could  have  been  more  amusing  than 
I the  helpless  wrath  of  the  Jacobins  caught  in  their  own  trap, 
I compelled  to  gnaw  their  tongues  in  silence,  while  the  Demo- 
P crats,  paraphrasing  their  own  arguments,  hurled  defiance 
I at  Lincoln. 

* Men  of  intellectual  courage  might  have  broken  their 
J party  ranks,  daringly  applied  Lincoln’s  own  maxim  ‘‘stand 
I with  any  one  who  stands  right,”  and  momentarily  joined 
the  Democrats  in  their  battle  against  the  two  proclamations. 

; But  in  American  politics,  with  a few  glorious  exceptions, 

; courage  of  this  sort  has  never  been  the  order  of  the  day. 

I The  Jacobins  kept  their  party  line;  bowed  their  heads  to 
; the  storm;  and  bided  their  time.  In  the  Senate,  an  indis- 


284 


LINCOLN 


creet  resolution  commending  the  Emancipation  Proclama- 
tion was  ordered  to  be  printed,  and  laid  on  the  table."  In 
the  House,  party  exigencies  were  more  exacting.  Despite 
the  Democratic  successes,  the  Republicans  still  had  a 
majority.  When  the  Democrats  made  the  repudiation  of 
the  President  a party  issue,  arguing  on  those  very  grounds 
that  had  aroused  the  eloquence  of  Stevens  and  the  rest — ■ 
why,  what’s  the  Constitution  between  friends ! Or  between 
political  enemies?  The  Democrats  forced  all  the  Republicans 
into  one  boat  by  introducing  a resolution  “That  the  policy 
of  emancipation  as  indicated  in  that  Proclamation  . . . 

is  an  assumption  of  powers  dangerous  to  the  rights  of 
citizens  and  to  the  perpetuity  of  a free  people.”  The  reso- 
lution was  rejected.  Among  those  who  voted  NO  was 
Stevens.^  Indeed,  the  star  of  the  Jacobins  was  far  down 
on  the  horizon. 

But  the  Jacobins  were  not  the  men  to  give  up  the  game 
until  they  were  certainly  in  the  last  ditch.  Though  their 
issues  had  been  slipped  out  of  their  hands;  though  for  the 
moment  at  least,  it  was  not  good  policy  to  fight  the  Presi- 
dent on  a principle;  it  might  still  be  possible  to  recover 
their  prestige  on  some  other  contention.  The  first  of  Janu- 
ary was  approaching.  The  final  proclamation  of  emanci- 
pation would  bring  to  an  end  the  temporary  alliance  of  the 
Administration  and  the  Abolitionists.  Who  could  say 
what  new  pattern  of  affairs  the  political  kaleidoscope  might 
not  soon  reveal?  Surely  the  Jacobin  cue  was  to  busy 
themselves,  straightway,  making  trouble  for  the  President. 
Principles  being  unavailable,  practices  might  do.  And 
who  was  satisfied  with  the  way  the  war  was  going?  To 
rouse  the  party  against  the  Administration  on- the  ground 
of  inefficient  practices,  of  unsatisfactory  military  progress, 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES  285 

might  be  the  first  step  toward  regaining  their  former 
dominance. 

There  was  a feather  in  the  wind  that  gave  them  hope. 
The  ominous  first  paragraph  of  the  Emancipation  Procla- 
mation was  evidence  that  the  President  was  still  stubbornly 
for  his  own  policy ; that  he  had  not  surrendered  to  the 
opposite  view.  But  this  was  not  their  only  strategic  hope. 
Lincoln's  dealings  with  the  army  between  September  and 
December  might,  especially  if  anything  in  his  course  proved 
to  be  mistaken,  deliver  him  into  their  hands. 

Following  Antietam,  Lincoln  had  urged  upon  McClellan 
swift  pursuit  of  Lee.  His  despatches  were  strikingly 
different  from  those  of  the  preceding  spring.  That  half 
apologetic  tone  had  disappeared.  Though  they  did  not 
command,  they  gave  advice  freely.  The  tone  was  at  least 
that  of  an  equal  who,  while  not  an  authority  in  this  par- 
ticular matter,  is  entitled  to  express  his  views  and  to  have 
them  taken  seriously. 

“You  remember  my  speaking  to  you  of  what  I called 
your  over-cautiousness?  Are  you  not  over-cautious  when 
you  assume  that  you  can  not  do  what  the  enemy  is  constantly 
doing?  Should  you  not  claim  to  be  at  least  his  equal  in 
prowess  and  act  upon  that  claim  . . . one  of  the 
standard  maxims  of  war,  as  you  know,  is  to  operate  upon 
the  enemy’s  communications  as  much  as  possible  without 
exposing  your  own.  You  seem  to  act  as  if  this  applies 
against  you,  but  can  not  apply  in  your  favor.  Change 
positions  with  the  enemy  and  think  you  not  he  would  break 
your  communications  with  Richmond  within  the  next 
twenty- four  hours.  . . . 

“If  he  should  move  northward,  I would  follow  him 
closely,  holding  his  communications.  If  he  should  prevent 


286 


LINCOLN 


your  seizing  his  communications  and  move  toward  Rich- 
mond, I would  press  closely  to  him,  fight  him  if  a favor- 
able opportunity  should  present,  and  at  least  try  to  beat 
him  to  Richmond  on  the  inside  track.  I say  ‘try’;  if  we 
never  try  we  shall  never  succeed.  . . . We  should  not 

operate  so  as  to  merely  drive  him  away.  . . . This 

letter  is  in  no  sense  an  order.”^ 

But  once  more  the  destiny  that  is  in  character  inter- 
vened, and  McClellan’s  tragedy  reached  its  climax.  His 
dread  of  failure  hypnotized  his  will.  So  cautious  were  his 
movements  that  Lee  regained  Virginia  with  his  army  in- 
tact. Lincoln  was  angry.  Military  amateur  though  he 
was,  he  had  filled  his  spare  time  reading  books  on  strategy, 
Von  Clausewitz  and  the  rest,  and  he  had  grasped  the  idea 
that  war’s  aim  is  not  to  win  technical  victories,  nor  to  take 
cities,  but  to  destroy  armies.  He  felt  that  McClellan  had 
thrown  away  an  opportunity  of  first  magnitude.  He  re- 
moved him  from  command.^ 

This  was  six  weeks  after  the  two  proclamations.  The 
country  was  ringing  with  Abolition  plaudits.  The  election 
had  given  the  Democrats  a new  lease  of  life.  The  anti- 
Lincoln  Republicans  were  silent  while  their  party  enemies 
with  their  stolen  thunder  rang  the  changes  on  the  presi- 
dential abuse  of  the  war  powers.  It  was  a moment  of 
crisis  in  party  politics.  Where  did  the  President  stand? 
What  was  the  outlook  for  those  men  who  in  the  words  of 
Senator  Wilson  “would  rather  give  a policy  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  than  take  a policy  from  the 
President  of  the  United  States.” 

Lincoln’s  situation  was  a close  parallel  to  the  situation 
of  July,  i86i,  when  McDowell  failed.  Just  as  in  choosing 
a successor  to  McDowell,  he  revealed  a political  attitude,  so 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


287 


now,  he  would  again  make  a revelation  choosing  a successor 
to  McClellan.  By  passing  over  Eremont  and  by  elevating 
a Democrat,  he  had  spoken  to  the  furious  politicians  in  the 
language  they  understood.  Whatever  appointment  he  now 
made  would  be  interpreted  by  those  same  politicians  in  the 
same  way.  In  the  atmosphere  of  that  time,  there  was  but 
one  way  for  Lincoln  to  rank  himself  as  a strict  party  man, 
to  recant  his  earlier  heresy  of  presidential  independence, 
and  say  to  the  Jacobins,  ‘T  am  'with  you.’^  He  must  ap- 
point a Republican  to  succeed  McClellan.  Let  him  do  that 
and  the  Congressional  Cabal  would  forgive  him.  But  he 
did  not  do  it.  He  swept  political  considerations  aside  and 
made  a purely  military  appointment.  Burnside,  on  whom 
he  fixed,  was  the  friend  and  admirer  of  McClellan  and 
might  fairly  be  considered  next  to  him  in  prestige.  He 
was  loved  by  his  troops.  In  the  eyes  of  the  army,  his 
elevation  represented  “a  legitimate  succession  rather  than 
the  usurpation  of  a successful  rival.”®  He  was  modest. 
He  did  not  want  promotion.  Nevertheless,  Lincoln  forced 
him  to  take  McClellan’s  place  against  his  will,  in  spite  of 
his  protest  that  he  had  not  the  ability  to  command  so  large 
an  army."^ 

When  Congress  assembled  and  the  Committee  resumed 
its  inquisition,  Burnside  was  moving  South  on  his  fated 
march  to  Fredericksburg.  The  Committee  watched  him 
like  hungry  wolves.  Woe  to  Burnside,  woe  to  Lincoln,  if 
the  General  failed ! Had  the  Little  Men  possessed  any  sort 
of  vision  they  would  have  seized  their  opportunity  to  be- 
come the  President’s  supporters.  But  they,  like  the 
Jacobins,  were  partisans  first  and  patriots  second.  In  the 
division  among  the  Republicans  the}^  saw,  not  a chance  to 
turn  the  scale  in  the  President’s  favor,  but  a chance  to  play 


288 


LINCOLN 


politics  on  their  own  account.  A picturesque  Ohio  poli- 
tician known  as  '‘Sunset”  Cox  opened  the  ball  of  their 
fatuousness  with  an  elaborate  argument  in  Congress  to 
the  effect  that  the  President  was  in  honor  bound  to  regard 
the  recent  elections  as  strictly  analogous  to  an  appeal  to  the 
country  in  England;  that  it  was  his  duty  to  remodel  his 
policy  to  suit  the  Democrats.  Between  the  Democrats  and 
the  Jacobins  Lincoln  was  indeed  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep  blue  sea  with  no  one  certainly  on  his  side  except  the 
volatile  Abolitionists  whom  he  did  not  trust  and  who  did 
not  trust  him.  A great  victory  might  carry  him  over. 
But  a great  defeat — what  might  not  be  the  consequence! 

On  the  thirteenth  of  December,  through  Burnside’s 
stubborn  incompetence,  thousands  of  American  soldiers 
flung  away  their  lives  in  a holocaust  of  useless  valor  at 
Fredericksburg.  Promptly  the  Jacobins  acted.  They  set 
up  a shriek : the  incompetent  President,  the  all-parties 
dreamer,  the  man  who  persists  in  coquetting  with  the 
Democrats,  is  blundering  into  destruction!  Burnside  re- 
ceived the  dreaded  summons  from  the  Committee.  So 
staggering  was  the  shock  of  horror  that  even  moderate 
Republicans  were  swept  away  in  a new  whirlpool  of  doubt. 

But  even  thus  it  was  scarcely  wise,  the  Abolitionists 
being  still  fearful  over  the  emancipation  policy,  to  attack 
the  President  direct.  Nevertheless,  the  resourceful  Jacobins 
found  a way  to  begin  their  new  campaign.  Seward,  the 
symbol  of  moderation,  the  unforgivable  enemy  of  the 
Jacobins,  had  recently  earned  anew  the  hatred  of  the  Abo- 
litionists. Letters  of  his  to  Charles  Francis  Adams  had 
appeared  in  print.  Some  of  their  expressions  had  roused 
a storm.  For  example:  "extreme  advocates  of  African 
slavery  and  its  most  vehement  exponents  are  acting  ir  con- 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


289 


cert  together  to  precipitate  a servile  war.”®  To  be  sure, 
the  date  of  this  letter  was  long  since,  before  he  and  Lincoln 
had  changed  ground  on  emancipation,  but  that  did  not 
matter.  He  had  spoken  evil  of  the  cause ; he  should  suffer. 
All  along,  the  large  number  that  were  incapable  of  appreci- 
ating his  lack  of  malice  had  wished  him  out  of  the  Cabinet. 
As  Lincoln  put  it:  “While  they  seemed  to  believe  in  my 
honesty,  they  also  appeared  to  think  that  when  I had  in  me 
any  good  purpose  or  intention,  Seward  contrived  to  suck 
it  out  of  me  unperceived.”^ 

The  Jacobins  were  skilful  politicians.  A caucus  of 
Republican  Senators  was  stampeded  by  the  cry  that  Seward 
was  the  master  of  the  Administration,  the  chief  explana- 
tion of  failure.  It  was  Seward  who  had  brought  them  to 
the  verge  of  despair.  A committee  was  named  to  demand 
the  reorganization  of  the  Cabinet.  Thereupon,  Seward, 
informed  of  this  action,  resigned.  The  Committee  of  the 
Senators  called  upon  Lincoln.  He  listened;  did  not  com- 
mit himself;  asked  them  to  call  again;  and  turned  into  his 
own  thoughts  for  a mode  of  saving  the  day. 

During  twenty  months,  since  their  clash  in  April,  1861, 
Seward  and  Lincoln  had  become  friends ; not  merely  official 
associates,  but  genuine  comrades.  Seward’s  earlier  con- 
descension had  wholly  disappeared.  Perhaps  his  new  re- 
spect for  Lincoln  grew  out  of  the  President’s  silence  after 
Sumter.  A few  words  revealing  the  strange  meddling  of 
the  Secretary  of  State  would  have  turned  upon  Seward  the 
full  fury  of  suspicion  that  destroyed  McClellan.  But  Lin- 
coln never  spoke  those  words.  Whatever  blame  there  was 
for  the  failure  of  the  Sumter  expedition,  he  quietly  accepted 
as  his  own.  Seward,  whatever  his  faults,  was  too  large  a 
nature,  too  genuinely  a lover  of  courage,  of  the  non-vin- 


290 


LINCOLN 


dictive  temper,  not  to  be  struck  with  admiration.  Watch- 
ing with  keen  eyes  the  unfolding  of  Lincoln,  Seward  ad- 
vanced from  admiration  to  regard.  After  a while  he  could 
write,  ‘‘The  President  is  the  best  of  us.”  He  warmed  to 
him;  he  gave  out  the  best  of  himself.  Lincoln  responded. 
While  the  other  secretaries  were  useful,  Seward  became 
necessary.  Lincoln,  in  these  dark  days,  found  comfort  in 
his  society. Lincoln  was  not  going  to  allow  Seward  to 
be  driven  out  of  the  Cabinet.  But  how  could  he  prevent 
it?  He  could  not  say.  He  was  in  a quandary.  For  the 
moment,  the  Republican  leaders  were  so  nearly  of  one  mind 
in  their  antagonism  to  Seward,  that  it  demanded  the  great- 
est courage  to  oppose  them.  But  Lincoln  does  not  appear 
to  have  given  a thought  to  surrender.  What  puzzled  him 
was  the  mode  of  resistance. 

Now  that  he  was  wholly  himself,  having  confidence  in 
whatever  mode  of  procedure  his  own  thought  approved,  he 
had  begun  using  methods  that  the  politicians  found  dis- 
concerting. Jhe  second  conference  with  the  Senators  was 
an  instance.  Returning  in  the  same  mood  in  which  they 
had  left  him,  with  no  suspicion  of  a surprise  in  store,  the 
Senators  to  their  amazement  were  confronted  by  the  Cab- 
inet— or  most  of  it,  Seward  being  absent. The  Senators 
were  put  out.  This  simple  maneuver  by  the  President  was 
the  beginning  of  their  discomfiture.  It  changed  their  role 
from  the  ambassadors  of  an  ultimatum  to  the  participants 
in  a conference.  But  even  thus,  they  might  have  suc- 
ceeded in  dominating  the  event,  though  it  is  hardly  con- 
ceivable that  they  could  have  carried  their  point;  they 
might  have  driven  Lincoln  into  a corner;  had  it  not  been 
for  the  make-up  of  one  man.  Again,  the  destiny  that  is  in 
character!  Lincoln  was  delivered  from  a quandary  by  the 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


291 


course  which  the  Secretar}^  of  the  Treasury  could  not  keep 
himself  from  pursuing. 

Chase,  previous  to  this  hour,  may  truly  be  called  an 
imposing  figure.  As  a leader  of  the  extreme  Republicans, 
he  had  earned  much  fame.  Lincoln  had  given  him  a free 
hand  in  the  Treasury  and  all  the  financial  measures  of  the 
government  were  his.  Hitherto,  Vindictives  of  all  sorts 
had  loved  him.  He  was  a critic  of  the  President’s  mild- 
ness, and  a severe  critic  of  Seward.  But  Chase  was  not 
candid.  Though  on  the  surface  he  scrupulously  avoided 
any  hint  of  cynicism,  any  point  of  resemblance  to  Seward, 
he  was  in  fact  far  more  devious,  much  more  capable  of  self- 
deception.  He  had  little  of  Seward’s  courage,  and  none 
of  his  aplomb.  His  condemnation  of  Seward  had  been 
confided  privately  to  Vindictive  brethren. 

When  the  Cabinet  and  the  Senators  met,  Chase  was 
placed  in  a situation  of  which  he  had  an  instinctive  horror. 
His  caution,  his  secretiveness,  his  adroit  confidences,  his 
skilful  silences,  had  created  in  these  two  groups  of  men, 
two  impressions  of  his  character.  The  Cabinet  knew  him 
as  the  faithful,  plausible  Minister  who  found  the  money  for 
the  President.  The  Senators,  or  some  of  them,  knew  him 
as  the  discontented  Minister  who  was  their  secret  ally. 
For  the  two  groups  to  compare  notes,  to  check  up  their  im- 
pressions, meant  that  Chase  was  going  to  be  found  out. 
And  it  was  the  central  characteristic  of  Chase  that  he  had 
a horror  of  being  found  out. 

The  only  definite  result  of  the  conference  was  Chase’s 
realization  when  the  Senators  departed  that  mischance  was 
his  portion.  In  the  presence  of  the  Cabinet  he  had  not 
the  face  to  stick  to  his  guns.  He  feebly  defended  Seward. 
The  Senators  opened  their  eyes  and  stared.  The  ally  they 


292 


LINCOLN 


had  counted  on  had  failed  them.  Chase  bit  his  lips  and 
was  miserable. 

The  night  that  followed  was  one  of  deep  anxiety  for 
Lincoln.  He  was  still  unable  to  see  his  way  out.  But 
all  the  while  the  predestination  in  Chase’s  character  was 
preparing  the  way  of  escape.  Chase  was  desperately  try- 
ing to  discover  how  to  save  his  face.  An  element  in  him 
that  approached  the  melodramatic  at  last  pointed  the  way. 
He  would  resign.  What  an  admirable  mode  of  recaptur- 
ing the  confidence  of  his  disappointed  friends,  carrying  out 
their  aim  to  disrupt  the  Cabinet!  But  he  could  not  do  a 
bold  thing  like  this  in  Seward’s  way — at  a stroke,  without 
hesitation.  When  he  called  on  Lincoln  the  next  day  with 
the  resignation  in  his  hand,  he  wavered.  It  happened  that 
Welles  was  in  the  room. 

‘‘Chase  said  he  had  been  painfully  affected,”  is  Welles’ 
account,  “by  the  meeting  last  evening,  which  was  a sur- 
prise, and  after  some  not  very  explicit  remarks  as  to  how 
he  was  affected,  informed  the  President  he  had  prepared 
his  resignation  of  the  office  of  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 
‘Where  is  it,’  said  the  President,  quickly,  his  eye  lighting 
up  in  a moment.  ‘I  brought  it  with  me,’  said  Chase,  tak- 
ing the  paper  from  his  pocket.  ‘I  wrote  it  this  morning.’ 
‘Let  me  have  it,’  said  the  President,  reaching  his  long  arm 
and  fingers  toward  Chase,  who  held  on  seemingly  reluctant 
to  part  with  the  letter  which  was  sealed  and  which  he  ap- 
parently hesitated  to  surrender.  Something  further  he 
wished  to  say,  but  the  President  was  eager  and  did  not 
perceive  it,  but  took  and  hastily  opened  the  letter. 

“ ‘This,’  said  he,  looking  towards  me  with  a triumphal 
laugh,  ‘cuts  the  Gordian  knot.’  An  air  of  satisfaction 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


293 


spread  over  his  countenance  such  as  I had  not  seen  for  some 
time.  T can  dispose  of  this  subject  now  without  difficulty/ 
he  added,  as  he  turned  in  his  chair;  T see  my  way  clear/ 

In  Lincoln’s  distress  during  this  episode,  there  was 
much  besides  his  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  a trusted  minister. 
He  felt  he  must  not  permit  himself  to  be  driven  into  the 
arms  of  the  Vindictives  by  disgracing  Seward.  Seward 
had  a following  which  Lincoln  needed.  But  to  proclaim 
to  the  world  his  confidence  in  Seward  without  at  the  same 
time  offsetting  it  by  some  display  of  confidence,  equally 
significant  in  the  enemies  of  Seward,  this  would  have 
amounted  to  committing  himself  to  Seward’s  following 
alone.  And  that  would  not  do.  Should  either  faction 
appear  to  dominate  him,  Lincoln  felt  that  ‘The  whole  gov- 
ernment must  cave  in.  It  could  not  stand,  could  not  hold 
water;  the  bottom  would  be  out.”^^ 

The  incredible  stroke  of  luck,  the  sheer  good  fortune 
that  Chase  was  Chase  and  nobody  else, — vain,  devious, 
stagey  and  hypersensitive, — was  salvation.  Lincoln  promptly 
rejected  both  resignations  and  called  upon  both  Ministers 
to  resume  their  portfolios.  They  did  so.  The  incident 
was  closed.  Neither  faHion  could  say  that  Lincoln  had 
favored  the  other.  He  had  saved  himself,  or  rather. 
Chase’s  character  had  saved  him,  by  the  margin  of  a hair. 

For  the  moment,  a rebuilding  of  the  Vindictive  Coali- 
tion was  impossible.  Nevertheless,  the  Jacobins,  again 
balked  of  their  prey,  had  it  in  their  power,  through  the 
terrible  Committee,  to  do  immense  mischief.  The  history 
of  the  war  contains  no  other  instance  of  party  malice  quite 
so  fruitless  and  therefore  so  inexcusable  as  their  next  move. 
After  severely  interrogating  Burnside,  they  published  an 


294 


LINCOLN 


exoneration  of  his  motives  and  revealed  the  fact  that  Lin- 
coln had  forced  him  into  command  against  his  will.  The 
implication  was  plain. 

January  came  in.  The  Emancipation  Proclamation 
was  confirmed.  The  jubilation  of  the  Abolitionists  became, 
almost  at  once,  a propaganda  for  another  issue  upon 
slavery.  New  troubles  were  gathering  close  about  the 
President.  The  overwhelming  benefit  which  had  been 
anticipated  from  the  new  policy  had  not  clearly  arrived. 
Even  army  enlistments  were  not  satisfactory.  Conscrip- 
tion loomed  on  the  horizon  as  an  eventual  necessity.  A 
bank  of  returning  cloud  was  covering  the  political  horizon, 
enshrouding  the  White  House  in  another  depth  of  gloom. 

However,  out  of  all  this  gathering  darkness,  one  clear 
light  solaced  Lincoln’s  gaze.  One  of  his  chief  purposes 
had  been  attained.  In  contrast  to  the  doubtful  and  fac- 
tional response  to  his  policy  at  home,  the  response  abroad 
was  sweeping  and  unconditional.  He  had  made  himself 
the  hero  of  the  ‘‘Liberal  party  throughout  the  world.” 
Among  the  few  cheery  words  that  reached  him  in  January, 
1863,  were  New  Year  greetings  of  trust  and  sympathy 
sent  by  English  working  men,  who,  because  of  the  blockade, 
were  on  the  verge  of  starvation.  It  was  in  response  to 
one  of  these  letters  from  the  working  men  of  Manchester 
that  Lincoln  wrote: 

“I  have  understood  well  that  the  duty  of  self-preserva- 
tion rests  solely  with  the  American  people;  but  I have  at 
the  same  time  been  aware  that  the  favor  or  disfavor  of 
foreign  nations  might  have  a material  influence  in  enlarg- 
ing or  prolonging  the  struggle  Avith  disloyal  men  in  which 
the  country  is  engaged.  A fair  examination  of  history 
has  served  to  authorize  a belief  that  the  past  actions  and 


Review  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  Falmouth,  Virginia,  April,  1863 


IIBMW 
Of  THE 

UNIVERSITT  OF  ILLIHOtO 


A WAR  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 


295 


influences  of  the  United  States  were  generally  regarded  as 
having  been  beneficial  toward  mankind.  I have  therefore 
reckoned  upon  the  forbearance  of  nations.  Circumstances 
— to  some  of  which  you  kindly  allude — induce  me  especially 
to  expect  that  if  justice  and  good  faith  should  be  practised 
by  the  United  States  they  would  encounter  no  hostile  in- 
fluence on  the  part  of  Great  Britain.  It  is  now  a pleasant 
duty  to  acknowledge  the  demonstration  you  have  given  of 
your  desire  that  a spirit  of  amity  and  peace  toward  this 
country  may  prevail  in  the  councils  of  your  Queen,  who  is 
respected  and  esteemed  in  your  own  country  only  more  than 
she  is  by  the  kindred  nation  which  has  its  home  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic. 

'T  know  and  deeply*  'deplore  the  sufferings  which  the 
working  men  at  Manchester,  and  in  all  Europe,  arc  called 
on  to  endure  in  this  crisis.  If'fi^iS'lbeen  often  and  studiously 
represented  that  the  attempt  to  overthrow  this  government 
which  was  built  upon  the  foundation  of  human  rights,  and 
to  substitute  for  it  one  which  should  rest  exclusively  on 
the  basis  of  human  slavery,  was  likely  to  obtain  the  favor 
of  Europe.  Through  the  action  of  our  disloyal  citizens, 
the  working  men  of  Europe  have  been  subjected  to  severe 
trials  for  the  purpose  of  forcing  their  sanction  to  that  at- 
tempt. Under  the  circumstances,  I can  not  but  regard 
your  decisive  utterances  upon  the  question  as  an  instance 
of  sublime  Christian  heroism  which  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  any  age  or  in  any  country.  It  is  indeed  an  energetic  and 
reinspiring  assurance  of  the  inherent  power  of  the  truth, 
and  of  the  ultimate  and  universal  triumph  of  justice, 
humanity  and  freedom.  I do  not  doubt  that  the  sentiments 
you  have  expressed  will  be  sustained  by  your  great  nation; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  I have  no  hesitation  in  assuring 


296 


LINCOLN 


you  that  they  will  excite  admiration,  esteem,  and  the  most 
reciprocal  feelings  of  friendship  among  the  Amercan  people. 
I hail  this  interchange  of  sentiment,  therefore,  as  an  augury 
that  whatever  else  may  happen,  whatever  misfortune  may 
befall  3^our  country  or  my  own,  the  peace  and  friendship 
which  now  exist  between  the  two  nations,  will  be,  as  it 
shall  be  my  desire  to  make  them,  perpetual.”^^ 


XXVI 


THE  DICTATOR,  THE  MARPLOT  AND  THE  LITTLE  MEN 

While  the  Jacobins  were  endeavoring  to  reorganize  the 
Republican  antagonism  to  the  President,  Lincoln  was  tak- 
ing thought  how  he  could  offset  still  more  effectually  their 
influence.  In  taking  up  the  emancipation  policy  he  had  not 
abandoned  his  other  policy  of  an  all-parties  Administration, 
or  of  something  similar  to  that.  By  this  time  it  was  plain 
that  a complete  union  of  parties  was  impossible.  In  the 
autumn  of  1862,  a movement  of  liberal  Democrats  in  Mich- 
igan for  the  purpose  of  a working  agreement  with  the  Re- 
publicans was  frustrated  by  the  flinty  opposition  of  Chand- 
ler.^ However,  it  still  seemed  possible  to  combine  portions 
of  parties  in  an  Administration  group  that  should  forswear 
the  savagery  of  the  extreme  factions  and  maintain  the  war 
in  a merciful  temper.  The  creation  of  such  a group  was 
Lincoln’s  aim  at  the  close  of  the  year. 

The  Republicans  were  not  in  doubt  what  he  was  driv- 
ing at.  Smarting  over  their  losses  in  the  election,  there 
was  angry  talk  that  Lincoln  and  Seward  had  ‘‘slaughtered 
the  Republican  party.”^  Even  as  sane  a man  as  John  Sher- 
man, writing  to  his  brother  on  the  causes  of  the  apparent 
turn  of  the  tide  could  say  “the  first  is  that  the  Republican 
organization  was  voluntarily  abandoned  by  the  President 
and  his  leading  followers,  and  a no-party  union  was  formed 
to  run  against  an  old,  well-drilled  party  organization.”^ 
When  Julian  returned  to  Washington  in  December,  he 

297 


298 


LINCOLN 


found  that  the  menace  to  the  Republican  machine  was 
‘'generally  admitted  and  (his)  earnest  opposition  to  it  fully 
justified  in  the  opinion  of  the  Republican  members  of  Con- 
gress.”^ How  fully  they  perceived  their  danger  had  been 
shown  in  their  attempt  to  drive  Lincoln  into  a corner  on 
the  issue  of  a new  Cabinet. 

Even  before  that,  Lincoln  had  decided  on  his  next  move. 
As  in  the  emancipation  policy  he  had  driven  a wedge  be- 
tween the  factions  of  the  Republicans,  so  now  he  v/ould 
drive  a wedge  into  the  organization  of  the  Democrats.  It 
had  two  parts  which  had  little  to  hold  them  together  except 
their  rooted  partisan  habit.  One  branch,  soon  to  receive 
the  label  “Copperhead,”  accepted  the  secession  principle  and 
sympathized  with  the  Confederacy.  The  other,  while  re- 
jecting secession  and  supporting  the  war,  denounced  the 
emancipation  policy  as  usurped  authority,  and  felt  personal 
hostility  to  Lincoln.  It  was  the  latter  faction  that  Lincoln 
still  hoped  to  win  over.  Its  most  important  member  was 
Horatio  Seymour,  who  in  the  autumn  of  1862  was  elected 
governor  of  New  York.  Lincoln  decided  to  operate  on 
him  by  one  of  those  astounding  moves  which  to  the  selfless 
man  seemed  natural  enough,  by  which  the  ordinary  politician 
was  always  hopelessly  mystified.  He  called  in  Thurlow 
Weed  and  authorized  him  to  make  this  proposal:  If  Sey- 
mour would  bring  his  following  into  a composite  Union 
party  with  no  platform  but  the  vigorous  prosecution  of  the 
war,  Lincoln  would  pledge  all  his  influence  to  securing  for 
Seymour  the  presidential  nomination  in  1864.®  Weed  de- 
livered his  message.  Seymour  was  non-committal  and  Lin- 
coln had  to  wait  for  his  answer  until  the  new  Governor 
should  show  his  hand  by  his  official  acts. 

Meanwhile  a new  crisis  had  developed  in  the  army. 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  299 


Burnside’s  character  appears  to  have  been  shattered  by  his 
defeat.  Previous  to  Fredericksburg,  he  had  seemed  to  be 
a generous,  high-minded  man.  From  Fredericksburg  on- 
ward, he  became  more  and  more  an  impossible.  A reflec- 
tion of  McClellan  in  his  earlier  stage,  he  was  somehow 
transformed  eventually  into  a reflection  of  Vindictivism. 
His  later  character  began  to  appear  in  his  first  conference 
with  the  Committee  subsequent  to  his  disaster.  They  vis- 
ited him  on  the  field  and  “his  conversation  disarmed  all 
criticism.”  This  was  because  he  struck  their  own  note 
to  perfection.  “Our  soldiers,”  he  said,  “were  not  sufficient!}^ 
fired  by  resentment,  and  he  exhorted  me  [Julian]  if  I could, 
to  breathe  into  our  people  at  home  the  same  spirit  toward 
our  enemies  which  inspired  them  toward  us.”®  What  a 
transformation  in  McClellan’s  disciple! 

But  the  country  was  not  won  over  so  easily  as  the 
Committee.  There  was  loud  and  general  disapproval  and 
of  course,  the  habitual  question,  “Who  next?”  The  publica- 
tion by  the  Committee  of  its  insinuation  that  once  more 
the  stubborn  President  was  the  real  culprit  did  not  stem 
the  tide.  Burnside  himself  made  his  case  steadily  worse. 
His  judgment,  such  as  it  was,  had  collapsed.  He  seemed 
to  be  stubbornly  bent  on  a virtual  repetition  of  his  pre- 
vious folly.  Lincoln  felt  it  necessary  to  command  him  to 
make  no  forward  move  without  consulting  the  President.*^ 

Burnside’s  subordinates  freely  criticized  their  com- 
mander. General  Hooker  was  the  most  outspoken.  It  was 
known  that  a movement  was  afoot — an  intrigue,  if  you 
will — to  disgrace  Burnside  and'  elevate  Hooker.  Chafing 
under  criticism  and  restraint,  Burnside  completely  lost  his 
sense  of  propriety.  On  the  twenty-fourth  of  January,  1863, 
when  Henry  W.  Raymond,  the  powerful  editor  of  the  New 


300 


LINCOLN 


York  Times,  was  on  a visit  to  the  camp,  Burnside  took  him 
into  his  tent  and  read  him  an  order  removing  Hooker  be- 
cause of  his  unfitness  “to  hold  a command  in  a cause  where 
so  much  moderation,  forbearance,  and  unselfish  patriotism 
were  required.”  Raymond,  aghast,  inquired  what  he  would 
do  if  Hooker  resisted,  if  he  raised  his  troops  in  mutiny? 
“He  said  he  would  swing  him  before  sundown  if  he  at- 
tempted such  a thing.” 

Raymond,  though  more  than  half  in  sympathy  with 
Burnside,  felt  that  thd  situation  was  startling.  He  hurried 
off  to  Washington.  “I  immediately,”  he  writes,  “called 
upon  Secretary  Chase  and  told  him,  the  whole  story.  He 
was  greatly  surprised  to  hear  such  reports  of  Hooker,  and 
said  he  had  looked  upon  him  as  the  man  best  fitted  to  com- 
mand the  army  of  the  Potomac.  But  no  man  capable  of  so 
much  and  such  unprincipled  ambition  was  fit  for  so  great 
a trust,  and  he  gave  up  all  thought  of  him  henceforth.  He 
wished  me  to  go  with  him  to  his  house  and  accompany  him 
and  his  daughter  to  the  President’s  levee.  I did  so  and 
found  a great  crowd  surrounding  President  Lincoln.  I 
managed,  however,  to  tell  him  in  brief  terms  that  I had 
been  with  the  army  and  that  many  things  were  occurring 
there  which  he  ought  to  know.  I told  him  of  the  obstacles 
thrown  in  Burnside’s  way  by  his  subordinates  and  espe- 
cially General  Plooker’s  habitual  conversation.  He  put  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder  and  said  in  my  ear  as  if  desirous  of 
not  being  overheard,  ‘That  is  all  true ; Hooker  talks  badly ; 
but  the  trouble  is,  he  is  stronger  with  the  country  today 
than  any  other  man.’  I ventured  to  ask  how  long  he  would 
retain  that  strength  if  his  real  conduct  and  character  should 
be  understood.  ‘The  country,’  said  he,  ‘would  not  believe 
it ; they  would  say  it  was  all  a lie.’ 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  301 


Whether  Chase  did  what  he  said  he  would  do  and 
ceased  to  be  Hooker’s  advocate,  may  be  questioned.  Tradi- 
tion preserves  a deal  between  the  Secretary  and  the  General 
— the  Secretary  to  urge  his  advancement,  the  General,  if  he 
reached  his  goal,  to  content  himself  with  military  honors 
and  to  assist  the  Secretary  in  succeeding  to  the  Presidency. 
Hooker  was  a public  favorite.  The  dashing,  handsome 
figure  of  ‘Tighting  Joe”  captivated  the  popular  imagina- 
tion. The  terrible  Committee  were  his  friends.  Military 
men  thought  him  full  of  promise.,  On  the  whole,  Lincoln, 
who  saw  the  wisdom  of  following  up  his  clash  over  the 
Cabinet  by  a concession  to  the  Jacobins,  was  willing  to  take 
his  chances  with  Hooker. 

His  intimate  advisers  were  not  of  the  same  mind.  They 
knew  that  there  was  mmch  talk  on  the  theme  of  a possible 
dictator — not  the  constitutional  dictator  of  Lincoln  and 
Stevens,  but  the  old-fashiond  dictator  of  historical  melo- 
drama. Hooker  was  reported  to  have  encouraged  such 
talk.  All  this  greatly  alarmed  one  of  Lincoln’s  most  devoted 
henchmen — Lamon,  Marshal  of  the  District  of  Columbia, 
who  regarded  himself  as  personally  responsible  for  Lin- 
coln’s safety.  ‘Tn  conversation  with  Mr.  Lincoln,”  says 
Lamon,  *^one  night  about  the  time  General  Burnside  was  re- 
lieved, I was  urging  upon  him  the  necessity  of  looking 
well  to  the  fact  that  there  was  a scheme  on  foot  to  depose 
him,  and  to  appoint  a military  dictator  in  his  stead.  He 
laughed  and  said,  T think,  for  a man  of  accredited  courage, 
you  are  the  most  panicky  person  I ever  knew ; you  can  see 
more  dangers  to  m.e  than  all  the  other  friends  I have.  You 
are  all  the  time  exercised  about  somebody  taking  my  life — 
murdering  me;  and  now  you  have  discovered  a new  dan- 
ger; now  you  think  the  people  of  this  great  government 


302 


LINCOLN 


are  likely  to  turn  me  out  of  office.  I do  not  fear  this  from 
the  people  any  more  than  I fear  assassination  from  an  indi- 
vidual. Now  to  show  my  appreciation  of  what  my  French 
friends  would  call  a coup  d’etat,  let  me  read  you  a letter 
I have  written  to  General  Hooker  whom  I have  just  ap- 
pointed to  the  command  of  the  army  of  the  Potomac.”® 

Few  letters  of  Lincoln’s  are  better  known,  few  reveal 
more  exactly  the  tone  of  his  final  period,  than  the  remark- 
able communication  he  addressed  to  Hooker  two  days  after 
that  whispered  talk  with  Raymond  at  the  White  House 
levee : 

“General,  I have  placed  you  at  the  head  of  the  army 
of  the  Potomac.  • Of  course  I have  done  this  upon  what 
appear  to  me  to  be  sufficient  reasons,  and  yet  I think  it 
best  for  you  to  know  that  there  are  some  things  in  regard 
to  which  I am  not  quite  satisfied  with  you.  I believe  you 
to  be  a brave  and  skilful  soldier,  which  of  course  I like. 
I also  believe  you  do  not  mix  politics  with  your  profession, 
in  which  you  are  right.  You  have  confidence  in  yourself, 
which  is  a valuable,  if  not  an  indispensable  quality.  You 
are  ambitious,  which  within  reasonable  bounds,  does  good 
rather  than  harm;  but  I think  that  during  General  Burn- 
side’s command  of  the  army  you  have  taken  counsel  of  your 
ambition  and  thwarted  him  as  much  as  you  could,  in  which 
you  did  a great  wrong  to  the  country  and  to  a most  meri- 
torious and  honorable  brother  officer.  I have  heard  in 
such  a way  as  to  believe  it,  of  your  recently  saying  that 
both  the  army  and  the  government  needed  a dictator.  Of 
course  it  was  not  for  this,  but  in  spite  of  it,  that  I have 
given  you  the  command.  Only  those  generals  who  gain 
successes  can  set  up  dictators.  What  I now  ask  you  is 
military  success,  and  I will  risk  the  dictatorship.  The  gov- 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  303 


ernment  will  support  you  to  the  utmost  of  its  ability,  which 
is  neither  more  nor  less  than  it  has  done  and  will  do  for  all 
commanders.  I much  fear  that  the  spirit  which  you  have 
aided  to  infuse  into  the  army,  of  criticizing  their  com- 
mander and  withholding  confidence  from  him,  will  now 
turn  upon  you.  I shall  assist  you  as  far  as  I can  to  put 
it  down.  Neither  you  nor  Napoleon,  if  he  were  alive 
again,  could  get  any  good  out  of  an  army  while  such  a 
spirit  prevails  in  it;  and  now  beware  of  rashness.  Beware 
of  rashness,  but  with  energy  and  sleepless  vigilance  go  for- 
ward and  give  us  victories.”^^ 

The  appointment  of  Hooker  had  the  effect  of  quieting 
the  Committee  for  the  time.  Lincoln  turned  again  to  his 
political  scheme,  but  not  until  he  had  made  another  mili- 
tary appointment  from  which  at  the  moment  no  one  could 
have  guessed  that  trouble  would  ever  come.  He  gave  to 
Burnside  what  might  be  called  the  sinecure  position  of 
Commander  of  the  Department  of  the  Ohio  with  head- 
quarters at  Cincinnati. 

During  the  early  part  of  1863  Lincoln’s  political  scheme 
received  a serious  blow.  Seymour  ranked  himself  as  an 
irreconcilable  enemy  of  the  Administration.  The  anti-Lin- 
coln Republicans  struck  at  the  President  in  roundabout 
ways.  Heralding  a new  attack,  the  best  man  on  the  Com- 
mittee, Julian,  ironically  urged  his  associates  in  Congress 
to  'Tescue”  the  President  from  his  false  friends — those 
mere  Unionists  who  were  luring  him  away  from  the  party 
that  had  elected  him,  enticing  him  into  a vague  new  party 
that  should  include  Democrats.^  ^ It  was  said  that  there 
were  only  two  Lincoln  men  in  the  House.  Greeley  was  co- 
quetting with  Rosecrans,  trying  to  induce  him  to  come  for- 
ward as  Republican  presidential  “timber.”  The  Committee 


LINCOLN 


304 

in  April  published  an  elaborate  report  which  portrayed  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  as  an  army  of  heroes  tragically  af- 
flicted in  the  past  by  the  incompetence  of  their  command- 
ers. The  Democrats  continued  their  abuse  of  the  dictator. 

It  was  a moment  of  strained  pause,  everybody  waiting 
upon  circumstance.  And  in  Washington,  every  eye  was 
turned  Southward.  How  soon  would  they  glimpse  the  first 
messenger  from  that  glorious  victory  which  ^'Fighting  Joe’’ 
had  promised  them.  ‘The  enemy  is  in  my  power,”  said 
he,  “and  God  Almighty  can  not  deprive  me  of  them.”^^ 

Something  of  the  difference  between  Hooker  and  Lin- 
coln, between  all  the  Vindictives  and  Lincoln,  may  be  felt 
by  turning  from  these  ribald  words  to  that  Fast  Day  Proc- 
lamation which  this  strange  statesman  issued  to  his  people, 
that  anxious  spring, — that  moment  of  trance  as  it  were — 
when  all  things  seemed  to  tremble  toward  the  last  judg- 
ment : 

“And  whereas,  it  is  the  duty  of  nations  as  well  as  of 
men  to  own  their  dependence  upon  the  overruling  power  of 
God;  to  confess  their  sins  and  transgressions  in  humble 
sorrow,  yet  with  assured  hope  that  genuine  repentance  will 
lead  to  mercy  and  pardon;  and  to  recognize  the  sublime 
truth  announced  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  proven  by  all 
history,  that  those  nations  only  are  blessed  whose  God  is 
the  Lord: 

“And  insomuch  as  we  know  that  by  His  divine  law 
nations,  like  individuals,  are  subjected  to  punishments  and 
chastisements  in  this  world,  may  we  not  justly  fear  that 
the  awful  calamity  of  civil  war  which  now  desolates  the 
land  may  be  but  a punishment  inflicted  upon  us  for  our 
presumptuous  sins,  to  the  needful  end  of  our  national 
reforrnation  as  a whole  people.  We  have  been  the  recipi- 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  305 


ents  of  the  choicest  bounties  of  Heaven.  We  have  been 
preserved,  these  many  years,  in  peace  and  prosperity.  We 
have  grown  in  numbers,  wealth  and  power  as  no  other 
nation  has  ever  grown;  but  we  have  forgotten  God.  We 
have  forgotten  the  gracious  hand  which  preserved  us  in 
peace,  and  multiplied  and  enriched  and  strengthened  us; 
and  we  have  vainly  imagined,  in  the  deceitfulness  of  our 
hearts,  that  all  these  blessings  were  produced  by  some 
superior  wisdom  and  virtue  of  our  own.  Intoxicated  with 
unbroken  success,  we  have  become  too  self-sufficient  to  feel 
the  necessity  of  redeeming  and  preserving  grace,  too  proud 
to  pray  to  God  that  made  us : 

‘Tt  behooves  us  then  to  humble  ourselves  before  the 
offended  Power,  to  confess  our  national  sins,  and  to  pray 
for  clemency  and  forgiveness. 

‘‘All  this  being  done  in  sincerity  and  truth,  let  us  then 
rest  humbly  in  the  hope  authorized  by  the  divine  teachings, 
that  the  united  cry  of  the  nation  will  be  heard  on  high,  and 
answered  with  blessings  no  less  than  the  pardon  of  our 
national  sins  and  the  restoration  of  our  now  divided  and 
suffering  country  to  its  former  happy  condition  of  unity 
and  peace.”^^ 

Alas,  for  such  men  as  Hooker!  What  seemed  to  him 
in  his  vainglory  beyond  the  reach  of  Omnipotence,  was 
accomplished  by  Lee  and  Jackson  and  a Confederate  army 
at  Chancellorsville.  Profound  gloom  fell  upon  Washington. 
Welles  heard  the  terrible  news  from  Sumner  who  came 
into  his  room  “and  raising  both  hands  exclaimed,  ‘Lost, 
lost,  all  is  lost  1’ 

The  aftermath  of  Manassas  was  repeated.  In  the  case 
of  Pope,  no  effort  had  been  spared  to  save  the  friend  of  the 
Committee,  to  find  some  one  else  on  whom  to  load  his  in- 


3o6 


LINCOLN 


competence.  The  course  was  now  repeated.  Again,  the 
Jacobins  raised  the  cry,  “We  are  betrayed !”  Again,  the  stir 
to  injure  the  President.  Very  strange  are  the  ironies  of 
history ! At  this  critical  moment,  Lincoln’s  amiable  mistake 
in  sending  Burnside  to  Cincinnati  demanded  expiation. 
Along  with  the  definite  news  of  Hooker’s  overthrow,  came 
the  news  that  Burnside  had  seized  the  Copperhead  leader, 
Vallandigham,  and  had  cast  him  into  prison;  that  a hubbub 
had  ensued ; that,  as  the  saying  goes,  the  woods  were  burn- 
ing in  Ohio. 

Vallandigham’s  offense  was  a public  speech  of  which 
no  accurate  report  survives.  However,  the  fragments  re- 
corded by  “plain  clothes”  men  in  Burnside’s  employ,  when 
set  in  the  perspective  of  Vallandigham’s  thinking  as  dis- 
played in  Congress,  make  its  tenor  plain  enough.  It  was 
an  out-and-out  Copperhead  harangue.  If  he  was  to  be 
treated  as  hundreds  of  others  had  been,  the  case  against 
him  was  plain.  But  the  Administration’s  policy  toward  agi- 
tators had  gradually  changed.  There  was  not  the  same 
fear  of  them  that  had  existed  two  years  before.  Now  the 
tendency  of  the  Administration  was  to  ignore  them. 

The  Cabinet  regretted  what  Burnside  had  done.  Never- 
theless, the  Ministers  felt  that  it  would  not  do  to  repudiate 
him.  Lincoln  took  that  view.  He  wrote  to  Burnside  de- 
ploring his  action  and  sustaining  his  authority.^®  And  then, 
as  a sort  of  grim  practical  joke,  he  commuted  Vallandig- 
ham’s sentence  from  imprisonment  to  banishment.  The 
agitator  was  sent  across  the  lines  into  the  Confederacy. 

Burnside  had  effectually  played  the  marplot.  Very  little 
chance  now  of  an  understanding  between  Lincoln  and 
either  wing  of  the  Democrats.  The  opportunity  to  make 
capital  out  of  the  war  powers  was  quite  too  good  to  be 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  307 


lost!  Vallandigham  was  nominated  for  governor  by  the 
Ohio  Democrats.  In  all  parts  of  the  country  Democratic 
committees  resolved  in  furious  protest  against  the  dictator. 
And  yet,  on  the  whole,  perhaps,  the  incident  played  into 
Lincoln’s  hands.  At  least,  it  silenced  the  Jacobins.  With 
the  Democrats  ringing  the  changes  on  the  former  doctrine 
of  the  supple  politicians,  how  certain  that  their  only  course 
for  the  moment  was  to  lie  low.  A time  came,  to  be  sure, 
when  they  thought  it  safe  to  resume  their  own  creed;  but 
that  was  not  yet. 

The  hubbub  over  Vallandigham  called  forth  two  letters 
addressed  to  protesting  committees,  that  have  their  place 
among  Lincoln’s  most  important  statements  of  political 
science.  His  argument  is  based  on  the  proposition  which 
Browning  developed  a year  before.  The  core  of  it  is: 

“You  ask  in  substance  whether  I really  claim  that  I 
may  override  all  guaranteed  rights  of  individuals  on  the 
plea  of  conserving  the  public  safety,  whenever  I may  choose 
to  say  the  public  safety  requires  it.  This  question,  divested 
of  the  phraseology  calculated  to  represent  me  as  struggling 
for  an  arbitrary  personal  prerogative,  is  either  simply  a 
question  who  shall  decide,  or  an  affirmation  that  no  one 
shall  decide,  what  the  public  safety  does  require  in  cases 
of  rebellion  or  invasion. 

“The  Constitution  contemplates  the  question  as  likely 
to  occur  for  decision,  but  it  does  not  expressly  declare  who 
is  to  decide  it.  By  necessary  implication,  when  rebellion 
or  invasion  comes,  the  decision  is  to  be  made  from  time  to 
time;  and  I think  the  man  whom,  for  the  time,  the  people 
have,  under  the  Constitution,  made  the  Commander-in-chief 
of  their  army  and  navy,  is  the  man  who  holds  the  power 
and  bears  the  responsibility  of  making  itr  If  he  uses  the 


3o8 


LINCOLN 


power  justly,  the  same  people  will  probably  justify  him;  if 
he  abuses  it,  he  is  in  their  hands  to  be  dealt  with  by  all  the 
modes  they  have  reserved  to  themselves  in  the  Consti- 
tution.”^^ 

Browning’s  argument  over  again — the  President  can  be 
brought  to  book  by  a plebiscite,  while  Congress  can  not. 
But  Lincoln  did  not  rest,  as  Browning  did,  on  mere  argu- 
ment. The  old-time  jury  lawyer  revived.  He  was  doing 
more  than  arguing  a theorem  of  political  science.  He  was 
on  trial  before  the  people,  the  great  mass,  which  he  under- 
stood so  well.  He  must  reach  their  imaginations  and  touch 
their  hearts. 

^‘Mr.  Vallandigham  avows  his  hostility  to  the  war  on 
the  part  of  the  Union,  and  his  arrest  was  made  because  he 
was  laboring  with  some  effect,  to  prevent  the  raising  of 
troops,  to  encourage  desertions  from  the  army,  and  to  leave 
the  rebellion  without  an  adequate  military  force  to  sup- 
press it.  He  was  not  arrested  because  he  was  damaging 
the  political  prospects  of  the  Administration  or  the  personal 
interests  of  the  Commanding  General,  but  because  he  was 
damaging  the  army,  upon  the  existence  and  vigor  of  which 
the  life  of  the  nation  depends.  He  was  warring  upon  the 
military,  and  this  gave  the  military  constitutional  juris- 
diction to  lay  hands  upon  him.  . . . 

‘T  understand  the  meeting  whose  resolutions  I am 
considering,  to  be  in  favor  of  suppressing  the  rebellion  by 
military  force — ^by  armies.  Long  experience  has  shown 
that  armies  can  not  be  maintained  unless  desertion  shall  be 
punished  by  the  severe  penalty  of  death.  The  case  re- 
quires, and  the  Law  and  the  Constitution  sanction  this 
punishment.  Must  I shoot  a simple-minded  soldier  boy 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  309 


who  deserts  while  I must  not  touch  a hair  of  a wily  agitator 
i who  induces  him  to  desert?’’^® 

' Again,  the  ironical  situation  of  the  previous  December; 
the  wrathful  Jacobins,  the  most  dangerous  because  the  most 
sincere  enemies  of  the  presidential  dictatorship,  silent, 
trapped,  biding  their  time.  But  the  situation  had  for  them 
a distinct  consolation.  A hundred  to  one  it  had  killed  the 
hope  of  a Lincoln-Democratic  alliance. 

However,  the  President  would  not  give  up  the  Demo- 
crats without  one  last  attempt  to  get  round  the  Little  Men. 
Again,  he  could  think  of  no  mode  of  negotiation  except 
the  one  he  had  vainly  attempted  with  Seymour.  As  earnest 
of  his  own  good  faith,  he  would  once  more  renounce  his 
own  prospect  of  a second  term.  But  since  Seymour  had 
failed  him,  who  was  there  that  could  serve  his  purpose? 
The  popularity  of  McClellan  among  those  Democrats  who 
were  not  Copperheads  had  grown  with  his  misfortunes. 
There  had  been  a wide  demand  for  his  restoration  after 
Fredericksburg,  and  again  after  Chancellorsville.  Lincoln 
justified  his  reputation  for  political  insight  by  concluding 
that  McClellan,  among  the  Democrats,  was  the  coming  man. 
Again  Weed  was  called  in.  Again  he  became  an  ambassa- 
dor of  renunciation.  Apparently  he  carried  a message  to 
the  effect  that  if  McClellan  would  join  forces  with  the 
Administration,  Lincoln  would  support  him  for  president 
a year  later.  But  McClellan  was  too  inveterate  a partisan. 
Perhaps  he  thought  that  the  future  was  his  anyway.^® 

And  so  Lincoln’s  persistent  attempt  to  win  over  the 
Democrats  came  to  an  end.  The  final  sealing  of  their  an- 
tagonism was  effected  at  a great  Democratic  rally  in  New 
York  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  The  day  previous,  a mani- 


310 


LINCOLN 


festo  had  been  circulated  through  the  city  beginning,  ‘Tree- 
men,  awake!  In  everything,  and  in  most  stupendous  pro- 
portion, is  this  Administration  abominable  1”^^  Seymour 
reaffirmed  his  position  of  out-and-out  partisan  hostility  to 
the  Administration.  Vallandigham’s  colleague,  Pendleton 
of  Ohio,  formulated  the  Democratic  doctrine : that  the  Con- 
stitution was  being  violated  by  the  President’s  assumption 
of  war  powers.  His  cry  was,  “The  Constitution  as  it  is 
and  the  Union  as  it  was.”  He  thundered  that  “Congress 
can  not,  and  no  one  else  shall,  interfere  with  free  speech.” 
The  question  was  not  whether  we  were  to  have  peace  or 
war,  but  whether  or  not  we  were  to  have  free  government; 
“if  it  be  necessary  to  violate  the  Constitution  in  order  to 
carry  on  the  war,  the  war  ought  instantly  to  be  stopped. 

Lincoln’s  political  program  had  ended  apparently  in  a 
wreck.  But  Fortune  had  not  entirely  deserted  him. 
Hooker  in  a fit  of  irritation  had  offered  his  resignation. 
Lincoln  had  accepted  it.  Under  a new  commander,  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  had  moved  against  Lee.  The  orators 
at  the  Fourth  of  July  meeting  had  read  in  the  papers  that 
same  day  Lincoln’s  announcement  of  the  victory  at  Gettys- 
burg.^^ Almost  coincident  with  that  announcement  was 
the  surrender  of  Vicksburg.  Difficult  as  was  the  political 
problem  ahead  of  him,  the  problem  of  finding  some  other 
plan  for  unifying  his  support  without  participating  in  a 
Vindictive  Coalition,  Lincoln’s  mood  was  cheerful.  On  the 
seventh  of  July  he  was  serenaded.  Serenades  for  the 
President  were  a feature  of  war-time  in  Washington,  and 
Lincoln  utilized  the  occasions  to  talk  informally  to  the 
country.  His  remarks  on  the  seventh  were  not  distinctive, 
except  for  their  tone,  quietly,  joyfully  confident.  His 
serene  mood  displayed  itself  a week  later  in  a note  to  Grant 


DICTATOR,  MARPLOT  AND  LITTLE  MEN  31 1 


i which  is  oddly  characteristic.  Who  else  would  have  had 
; the  impulse  to  make  this  quaint  little  confession?  But 
; what,  for  a general  who  could  read  between  the  lines,  could 
have  been  more  delightful 

“My  dear  General:  I do  not  remember  that  you  and 
I ever  met  personally.  I write  this  now  as  a grateful 
1 acknowledgment  for  the  almost  inestimable  service  you 
I have  done  the  country.  I wish  to  say  a word  further. 

, When  you  first  reached  the  vicinity  of  Vicksburg,  I thought 
you  should  do  what  you  finally  did — march  the  troops 
across  the  neck,  run  the  batteries  with  the  transports,  and 
thus  go  below;  and  I never  had  any  faith  except  a general 
hope  that  you  knew  better  than  I,  that  the  Yazoo  Pass 
expedition  and  the  like  could  succeed.  When  you  got  below 
and  took  Port  Gibson,  Grand  Gulf  and  the  vicinity,  I 
thought  you  should  go  down  the  river  and  join  General 
Banks,  and  when  you  turned  Northward,  east  of  the  Big 
Black,  I feared  it  was  a mistake.  I now  wish  to  make  the 
personal  acknowledgment  that  you  were  right  and  I was 
wrong. 

“Very  truly, 

“A.  Lincoln.” 


XXVII 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

Between  March  and  December,  1863,  Congress  was 
not  in  session.  Its  members  were  busy  “taking  the  sense 
of  the  country”  as  they  would  have  said:  “putting  their 
ears  to  the  ground,”  as  other  people  would  say.  A 
startling  tale  the  ground  told  them.  It  was  nothing  less 
than  that  Lincoln  was  the  popular  hero;  that  the  people 
believed  in  him ; that  the  politicians  would  do  well  to  shape 
their  ways  accordingly.  When  they  reassembled,  they 
were  in  a sullen,  disappointed  frame  of  mind.  They  would 
have  liked  to  ignore  the  ground’s  mandate;  but  being  poli- 
ticians, they  dared  not. 

What  an  ironical  turn  of  events!  Lincoln’s  well-laid 
plan  for  a coalition  of  Moderates  and  Democrats  had  come 
to  nothing.  Logically,  he  ought  now  to  be  at  the  mercy 
of  the  Republican  leaders.  But  instead,  those  leaders  were 
beginning  to  be  afraid  of  him,  were  perceiving  that  he  had 
power  whereof  they  had  not  dreamed.  Like  Saul  the  son 
of  Kish,  who  had  set  out  to  find  his  father’s  asses,  he  had 
found  instead  a kingdom.  How  had  he  done  it? 

On  a grand  scale,  it  was  the  same  sort  of  victory  that 
had  made  him  a power,  so  long  before,  on  the  little  stage 
at  Springfield.  It  was  personal  politics.  His  character 
had  saved  him.  A multitude  who  saw  nothing  in  the  fine 
drawn  constitutional  issue  of  the  war  powers,  who  sensed 

312 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


313 


the  war  in  the  most  simple  and  elementary  way,  had 
formed,  somehow,  a compelling  and  stimulating  idea  of 
the  President.  They  were  satisfied  that  ‘‘Old  Abe,”  or 
“Father  Abraham,”  was  the  man  for  them.  When,  after 
one  of  his  numerous  calls  for  fresh  troops,  their  hearts 
went  out  to  him,  a new  song  sprang  to  life,  a ringing, 
vigorous,  and  yet  a touching  song  with  the  refrain,  “We’re 
coming.  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand  more.” 

But  how  has  he  done  it,  asked  the  bewildered  poli- 
ticians, one  of  another.  How  had  he  created  this  personal 
confidence?  They,  Wade,  Chandler,  Stevens,  Davis,  could 
not  do  it ; why  could  he  ? 

Well,  for  one  thing,  he  was  a grand  reality.  They, 
relatively,  were  shadows.  The  wind  of  destiny  for  him 
was  the  convictions  arising  out  of  his  own  soul;  for  them 
it  was  vox  populi.  The  genuineness  of  Lincoln,  his 
spiritual  reality,  had  been  perceived  early  by  a class  of  men 
whom  your  true  politician  seldom  understands.  The  Intel- 
lectuals— “them  literary  fellers,”  in  the  famous  words  of 
an  American  Senator — were  quick  to  see  that  the  President 
was  an  extraordinary  man;  they  were  not  long  in  con- 
cluding that  he  was  a genius.  The  subtlest  intellect  of  the 
time,  Hawthorne,  all  of  whose  prejudices  were  enlisted 
against  him,  said  in  the  Atlantic  of  July,  1862:  “He  is 
evidently  a man  of  keen  faculties,  and  what  is  still  more  to 
the  purpose,  of  powerful  character.  As  to  his  integrity, 
the  people  have  that  intuition  of  it  which  is  never  deceived 
. . . he  has  a flexible  mind  capable  of  much  expansion.” 

And  this  when  Trumbull  chafed  in  spirit  because  the 
President  was  too  “weak”  for  his  part  and  Wade 
railed  at  him  as  a despot.  As  far  back  as  i860,  Lowell, 
destined  to  become  one  of  his  ablest  defenders,  had  said 


314 


LINCOLN 


that  Lincoln  had  ‘'proved  both  his  ability  and  his  integrity; 
he  . . . had  experience  enough  in  public  affairs  to  make 

him  a statesman,  and  not  enough  to  make  him  a politician.” 
To  be  sure,  there  were  some  Intellectuals  who  could  not 
see  straight  nor  think  clear.  The  world  would  have  more 
confidence  in  the  caliber  of  Bryant  had  he  been  able  to 
rank  himself  in  the  Lincoln  following.  But  the  greater 
part  of  the  best  intelligence  of  the  North  could  have  sub- 
scribed to  Motley’s  words,  “My  respect  for  the  character 
of  the  President  increases  every  day.”^  The  impression 
he  made  on  men  of  original  mind  is  shadowed  in  the  words 
of  Walt  Whitman,  who  saw  him  often  in  the  streets  of 
Washington:  “None  of  the  artists  or  pictures  have  caught 
the  subtle  and  indirect  expression  of  this  man’s  face.  One 
of  the  great  portrait  painters  of  two  or  three  centuries  ago 
is  needed!”^ 

Lincoln’s  popular  strength  lay  in  a combination  of  the 
Intellectuals  and  the  plain  people  against  the  politicians. 
He  reached  the  masses  in  three  ways : through  his  gen- 
eral receptions  which  any  one  might  attend;  through  the 
open-door  policy  of  his  office,  to  which  all  the  world  was 
permitted  access;  through  his  visits  to  the  army.  Many 
thousand  men  and  women,  in  one  or  another  of  these  ways, 
met  the  President  face  to  face,  often  in  the  high  suscepti- 
bility of  intense  woe,  and  carried  away  an  impression  which 
was  immediately  circulated  among  all  their  acquaintances. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  exaggerate  the  grotesque  mis- 
cellany of  the  stream  of  people  flowing  ever  in  and  out  of 
the  President’s  open  doors.  Patriots  eager  to  serve  their 
country  but  who  could  find  no  place  in  the  conventional 
requirements  of  the  War  Office;  sharpers  who  wanted  to 
inveigle  him  into  the  traps  of  profiteers;  widows  with  all 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


315 


their  sons  in  service,  pleading  for  one  to  be  exempted; 
other  parents  struggling  with  the  red  tape  that  kept  them 
from  sons  in  hospitals;  luxurious  frauds  prating  of  their 
loyalty  for  the  sake  of  property  exemptions;  inventors 
with  every  imaginable  strange  device;  politicians  seeking 
to  cajole  him;  politicians  bluntly  threatening  him;  cash- 
iered officers  demanding  justiee;  men  with  grievances  of 
a myriad  sorts;  nameless  statesmen  who  sought  to  teach 
him  his  duty;  clergymen  in  large  numbers,  generally  with 
the  same  purpose;  deputations  from  churches,  societies, 
political  organizations,  commissions,  trades  unions,  with 
every  sort  of  message  from  flattery  to  denunciation;  and 
best  of  all,  simple,  confiding  people  who  wanted  only  to 
say,  “We  trust  you — God  bless  you !” 

There  was  a method  in  this  madness  of  accessibility. 
Its  deepest  inspiration,  to  be  sure,  v/as  kindness.  In  re- 
ply to  a protest  that  he  would  wear  himself  out  listening 
to  thousands  of  requests  most  of  which  could  not  be 
granted,  he  replied  with  one  of  those  smiles  in  which  there 
was  so  much  sadness,  “They  don't  want  much;  they  get 
but  little,  and  I must  see  them.”^ 

But  there  was  another  inspiration.  His  open  doors 
enabled  him  to  study  the  American  people,  every  phase  of 
it,  good  and  bad.  “Men  moving  only  in  an  official  circle," 
said  he,  “are  apt  to  become  merely  official — not  to  say  arbi- 
trary— in  their  ideas,  and  are  apter  and  apter  with  each 
passing  day  to  forget  that  they  only  hold  power  in  a 
representative  capacity.  . . . Many  of  the  matters 

brought  to  my  notice  are  utterly  frivolous,  but  others  are 
of  more  or  less  importance,  and  all  serve  to  renew  in  me 
a clearer  and  more  vivid  image  of  that  great  popular  as- 
semblage out  of  which  I sprung,  and  to  which  at  the  end 


3i6 


LINCOLN 


of  two  years  I must  return.  ...  I call  these  receptions 
my  public  opinion  baths;  for  I have  but  little  time  to  read 
the  papers,  and  gather  public  opinion  that  way ; and  though 
they  may  not  be  pleasant  in  all  their  particulars,  the  effect 
as  a whole,  is  renovating  and  invigorating  to  my  percep- 
tions of  responsibility  and  duty.”^ 

He  did  not  allow  his  patience  to  be  abused  with  evil 
intent.  He  read  his  suppliants  swiftly.  The  profiteer,  the 
shirk,  the  fraud  of  any  sort,  was  instantly  unmasked.  “Til 
have  nothing  to  do  with  this  business,”  he  burst  out  after 
listening  to  a gentlemanly  profiteer;  ‘^nor  with  any  man 
who  comes  to  me  with  such  degrading  propositions.  What ! 
Do  you  take  the  President  of  the  United  States  to  be  a 
commission  broker?  You  have  come  to  the  wrong  place, 
and  for  3^ou  and  for  every  one  who  comes  for  the  same 
purpose,  there  is  the  door.”^ 

Lincoln  enjoyed  this  indiscriminate  mixing  with  peo- 
ple. It  was  his  chief  escape  from  care.  He  saw  no  reason 
why  his  friends  should  commiserate  him  because  of  the 
endless  handshaking.  That  was  a small  matter  compared 
with  the  interest  he  took  in  the  ever  various  stream  of  hu- 
man types.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  would  lapse  into  a brown 
study  in  the  midst  of  a reception.  Then  he  “would  shake 
hands  with  thousands  of  people,  seemingly  unconscious  of 
what  he  was  doing,  murmuring  monotonous  salutations  as 
they  went  by,  his  eye  dim,  his  thoughts  far  withdrawn.  . . . 
Suddenly,  he  would  see  some  familiar  face^ — his  memory 
for  faces  was  very  good — and  his  eye  would  brighten  and 
his  whole  form  grow  attentive;  he  would  greet  the  visitor 
with  a hearty  grasp  and  a ringing  word  and  dismiss  him 
with  a cheery  laugh  that  filled  the  Blue  Room  with  infec- 
tious good  nature.”^  Carpenter,  the  portrait  painter,  whQ 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


317 


for  a time  saw  him  daily,  says  that  ^'his  laugh  stood  by 
itself.  The  neigh  of  a wild  horse  on  his  native  prairie  is 
not  more  undisguised  and  hearty.”  An  intimate  friend 
called  it  his  ‘'life  preserver.”'^ 

Lincoln’s  sense  of  humor  delighted  in  any  detail  of  an 
event  which  suggested  comedy.  His  genial  awkwardness 
amused  himself  quite  as  much  as  it  amused  the  world.  At 
his  third  public  reception  he  wore  a pair  of  white  kid  gloves 
that  were  too  small.  An  old  friend  approached.  The 
President  shook  hands  so  heartily  that  his  glove  burst  with 
a popping  sound.  Holding  up  his  hand,  Lincoln  gazed  at 
the  ruined  glove  with  a droll  air  while  the  arrested  proces- 
sion came  to  a standstill.  “Well,  my  old  friend,”  said  he, 
“this  is  a general  bustification ; you  and  I were  never  in- 
tended to  wear  these  things.  If  they  were  stronger  they 
might  do  to  keep  out  the  cold,  but  they  are  a failure  to 
shake  hands  with  between  old  friends  like  us.  Stand  aside. 
Captain,  and  I’ll  see  you  shortly.”® 

His  complete  freedom  from  pose,  and  from  the  sense 
of  place,  was  glimpsed  by  innumerable  visitors.  He  would 
never  allow  a friend  to  address  him  by  a title.  “Call  me 
Lincoln,”  he  would  say;  “Mr.  President  is  entirely  too 
formal  for  us.”^ 

In  a mere  politician,  all  this  might  have  been  ques- 
tioned. But  Hawthorne  was  right  as  to  the  people’s  intui- 
tion of  Lincoln’s  honesty.  He  hated  the  parade  of  emi- 
nence. Jefferson  was  his  patron  saint,  and  “simplicity” 
was  part  of  his  creed.  Nothing  could  induce  him  to  sur- 
round himself  with  pomp,  or  even — as  his  friends  thought 
— with  mere  security.  Rumors  of  plots  against  his  life 
were  heard  almost  from  the  beginning.  His  friends  begged 
long  and  hard  before  he  consented  to  permit  a cavalry 


3i8 


LINCOLN 


guard  at  the  gates  of  the  White  House.  Very  soon  he 
countermanded  his  consent.  '‘It  would  never  do,”  said  he, 
“for  a president  to  have  guards  with  drawn  sabers  at  his 
door,  as  if  he  fancied  he  were,  or  were  trying  to  be,  or 
were  assuming  to  be,  an  emperor.” 

A military  officer,  alarmed  for  his  safety,  begged  him 
to  consider  “the  fact  that  any  assassin  or  maniac  seeking 
his  life,  could  enter  his  presence  without  the  interference 
of  a single  armed  man  to  hold  him  back.  The  entrance 
doors,  and  all  doors  on  the  official  side  of  the  building, 
were  open  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  very  late  into  the 
evening;  and  I have  many  times  entered  the  mansion  and 
walked  up  to  the  rooms  of  the  two  private  secretaries  as 
late  as  nine  or  ten  o’clock  at  night,  without  seeing,  or  being 
challenged  by  a single  soul.”  But  the  officer  pleaded  in 
vain.  Lincoln  laughingly  paraphrased  Charles  II,  “Now  as 
to  political  assassination,  do  you  think  the  Richmond  people 
would  like  to  have  Hannibal  Hamlin  here  any  more  than 
myself?  . . . As  to  the  crazy  folks.  Major,  why  I 

must  only  take  my  chances — the  most  crazy  people  at 
present,  I fear,  being  some  of  my  own  too  zealous  ad- 
herents.”^^ With  Carpenter,  to  whom  he  seems  to  have 
taken  a liking,  he  would  ramble  the  streets  of  Washington, 
late  at  night,  “without  escort  or  even  the  company  of  a 
servant.”^^  Though  Halleck  talked  him  into  accepting  an 
escort  when  driving  to  and  fro  between  Washington  and 
his  summer  residence  at  the  Soldiers’  Home,  he  would 
frequently  give  it  the  slip  and  make  the  journey  on  horse- 
back alone.  In  August  of  1862  on  one  of  these  solitary 
rides,  his  life  was  attempted.  It  was  about  eleven  at  night; 
he  was  ^‘jogging  along  at  a slow  gait  immersed  in  deep 
thought”  when  some  one  fired  at  him  with  a rifle  from 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


319 


near  at  hand.  The  ball  missed  its  aim  and  the  President’s 
horse,  as  Lincoln  confided  to  his  familiars,  “gave  proof 
of  decided  dissatisfaction  at  the  racket,  and  with  one  reckless 
bound,  he  unceremoniously  separated  me  from  my  eight- 
dollar  plug  hat.  ...  At  break-neck  speed  we  reached 
a haven  of  safety.  Meanwhile,  I was  left  in  doubt  whether 
death  was  more  desirable  from  being  thrown  from  a runa- 
way Federal  horse,  or  as  the  tragic  result  of  a rifle  ball 
fired  by  a disloyal  bushwhacker  in  the  middle  of  the  night.”^^ 
While  carrying  his  life  in  his  hands  in  this  oddly  reck- 
less way,  he  belied  himself,  as  events  were  to  show,  by 
telling  his  friends  that  he  fancied  himself  “a  great  coward 
physically,”  that  he  felt  sure  he  would  make  a poor  soldier. 
But  he  was  sufficiently  just  to  himself  to  add,  “Moral 
cowardice  is  something  which  I think  I never  had.”^^ 

Lincoln’s  humor  found  expression  in  other  ways  be- 
sides telling  stories  and  laughing  at  himself.  He  seized 
every  opportunity  to  convert  a petition  into  a joke,  when 
this  could  be  done  without  causing  pain.  One  day,  there 
entered  a great  man  with  a long  list  of  favors  which  he 
hoped  to  have  granted.  Among  these  was  “the  case  of 
Betsy  Ann  Dougherty,  a good  woman,”  said  the  great  man. 
“She  lived  in  my  county  and  did  my  washing  for  a long 
time.  Her  husband  went  off  and  joined  the  Rebel  army  and 
I wish  you  would  give  her  a protection  paper.”  The 
pompous  gravity  of  the  way  the  case  was  presented  struck 
Lincoln  as  very  funny.  His  visitor  had  no  humor.  He 
failed  to  see  jokes  while  Lincoln  quizzed  him  as  to  who 
and  what  was  Betsy  Ann.  At  length  the  President  wrote 
a line  on  a card  and  handed  it  to  the  great  man.  “Tell 
Betsy  Ann  to  put  a string  in  this  card  and  hang  it  round 
her  neck/’  said  he.  “When  the  officers  (who  may  have 


320 


LINCOLN 


doubted  her  affiliations)  see  this  they  will  keep  their  hands 
off  your  Betsy  Ann.”  On  the  card  was  written,  “Let  Betsy 
Ann  Dougherty  alone  as  long  as  she  behaves  herself.  A. 
Lincoln.”^^ 

This  eagerness  for  a joke  now  and  then  gave  offense. 
On  one  occasion,  a noted  Congressman  called  on  the  Presi- 
dent shortly  after  a disaster.  Lincoln  began  to  tell  a story. 
Jhe  Congressman  jumped  up.  “Mr.  President,  I did  not 
come  here  this  morning  to  hear  stories.  It  is  too  serious 
a time.”  Lincoln’s  ‘face  changed.  “Ashley,”  said  he,  “sit 
down!  I respect  you  as  an  earnest,  sincere  man.  You 
can  not  be  more  anxious  than  I have  been  constantly  since 
the  beginning  of  the  war;  and  I say  to  you  now,  that  were 
it  not  for  this  occasional  vent,  I should  die.”^®  Again  he 
said,  “When  the  Peninsula  Campaign  terminated  suddenly 
at  Harrison’s  Landing,  I was  as  near  inconsolable  as  I 
could  be  and  live.”^'^ 

Lincoln’s  imaginative  power,  the  ineradicable  artist  in 
him,  made  of  things  unseen  true  realities  to  his  sensibility. 
Reports  of  army  suffering  bowed  his  spirit.  “This  was 
especially  the  case  when  the  noble  victims  were  of  his  own 
acquaintance,  or  of  the  narrower  circle  of  his  familiar 
friends;  and  then  he  seemed  for  the  moment  possessed  of 
a sense  of  personal  responsibility  for  their  individual  fate 
which  was  at  once  most  unreasonable  and  most  pitiful.” 
On  hearing  that  two  sons  of  an  old  friend  were  desperately 
wounded  and  would  probably  die,  he  broke  out  with : “Here, 
now,  are  these  dear  brave  boys  killed  in  this  cursed  war. 
My  God!  My  God!  It  is  too  bad!  They  worked  hard 
to  earn  money  to  educate  themselves  and  this  is  the  end! 
I loved  them  as  if  they  were  my  own.”^® 

He  was  one  of  the  few  who  have  ever  written  a beautiful 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


321 


letter  of  condolence.  Several  of  his  letters  attempting  this 
all  but  impossible  task,  come  as  near  their  mark  as  such 
things  can.  One  has  become  a classic: 

'T  have  been  shown,”  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Bixby,  ‘‘in  the 
files  of  the  War  Department  a statement  of  the  Adjutant- 
General  of  Massachusetts  that  you  are  the  mother  of  five 
sons  who  have  died  gloriously  on  the  field  of  battle.  I 
feel  how  weak  and  fruitless  must  be  any  words  of  mine 
which  should  attempt  to  beguile  you  from  the  grief  of  a 
loss  so  overwhelming.  But  I can  not  refrain  from  tender- 
ing to  you  the  consolation  that  may  be  found  in  the  thanks 
of  the  Republic  they  died  to  save.  I pray  that  our 
heavenly  Father  may  assuage  the  anguish  of  your  bereave- 
ment, and  leave  you  only  the  cherished  memory  of  the 
loved  and  lost,  and  the  solemn  pride  that  must  be  yours 
to  have  laid  so  costly  a sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of 
freedom.”^® 

All  these  innumerable  instances  of  his  sympathy  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth;  became  part  of  a floating  propaganda 
that  was  organizing  the  people  in  his  support.  To  these 
were  added  many  anecdotes  of  his  mercy.  The  American 
people  had  not  learned  that  war  is  a rigorous  thing.  Disci- 
pline in  the  army  was  often  hard  to  maintain.  Impulsive 
young  men  who  tired  of  army  life,  or  who  quarreled  with 
their  officers,  sometimes  walked  away.  There  were  many 
condemnations  either  for  mutiny  or  desertion.  In  the 
stream  of  suppliants  pouring  daily  through  the  President’s 
office,  many  were  parents  imploring  mercy  for  rash  sons. 
As  every  death-warrant  had  to  be  signed  by  the  President, 
his  generals  were  frequently  enraged  by  his  refusal  to  carry 
out  their  decisions.  ‘‘General,”  said  he  to  an  angry  com- 
mander who  charged  him  with  destroying  discipline,  “there 


322 


LINCOLN 


are  too  many  weeping  widows  in  the  United  States  now. 
For  God’s  sake  don’t  ask  me  to  add  to  the  number;  for 
I tell  you  plainly  I won’t  do  it.”“^ 

Here  again,  kindness  was  blended  with  statecraft,  mercy 
with  shrewdness.  The  generals  could  not  grasp  the  political 
side  of  war.  Lincoln  tried  to  make  them  see  it.  When 
they  could  not,  he  quietly  in  the  last  resort  counteracted 
their  influence.  When  some  of  them  talked  of  European 
experience,  he  shook  his  head;  it  would  not  do;  they  must 
work  with  the  tools  they  had;  first  of  all  with  an  untrained 
people,  intensely  sensitive  to  the  value  of  human  life,  im- 
pulsive, quick  to  forget  offenses,  ultra-considerate  of  youth 
and  its  rashness.  Whatever  else  the  President  did,  he  must 
not  allow  the  country  to  think  of  the  army  as  an  ogre  de- 
vouring its  sons  because  of  technicalities.  The  General  saw 
only  the  discipline,  the  morale,  of  the  soldiers;  the  Presi- 
dent saw  the  far  more  difficult,  the  more  roundabout  mat-, 
ter,  the  discipline  and  the  morale  of  the  citizens.  The  one 
believed  that  he  could  compel ; the  other  with  his  finger  on 
the  nation’s  pulse,  knew  that  he  had  to  persuade. 

However,  this  flowing  army'  of  the  propaganda  did  not 
always  engage  him  on  the  tragic  note.  One  day  a large 
fleshy  man,  of  a stern  but  homely  countenance  and  a solemn 
and  dignified  carriage,  immaculate  dress — ‘‘swallow-tailed 
coat,  ruffled  shirt  of  faultless  fabric,  white  cravat  and 
orange-colored  gloves” — entered  with  the  throng.  Looking 
at  him  Lincoln  was  somewhat  appalled.  He  expected  some 
formidable  demand.  To  his  relief,  the  imposing  stranger 
delivered  a brief  harangue  on  the  President’s  policy,  closing 
with,  “I  have  watched  you  narrowly  ever  since  your  inau- 
guration. ...  As  one  of  your  constituents,  I now  say 
to  you,  do  in  future  as  you  damn  please,  and  I will  support 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE  323 

you.’’  ‘‘Sit  down,  my  friend,”  said  Lincoln,  “sit  down. 
I am  delighted  to  see  you.  Lunch  with  us  to-day.  Yes, 
you  must  stay  and  lunch  with  us,  my  friend,  for  I have  not 
seen  enough  of  you  yet.”^^  There  were  many  of  these  in- 
formal ambassadors  of  the  people  assuring  the  President 
of  popular  support.  And  this  florid  gentleman  was  not 
the  only  one  who  lunched  with  the  President  on  first  ac- 
quaintance. 

This  casual  way  of  inviting  strangers  to  lunch  with 
him  was  typical  of  his  mode  of  life,  which  was  exceedingly 
simple.  He  slept  lightly  and  rose  early.  In  summer  when 
he  used  the  Soldiers’  Plome  as  a residence,  he  was  at  his 
desk  in  the  White  House  at  eight  o’clock  in  the  morning. 
His  breakfast  was  an  egg  and  a cup  of  coffee;  luncheon 
was  rarely  more  than  a glass  of  milk  and  a biscuit  with  a 
plate  of  fruit  in  season ; his  dinner  at  six  o’clock,  was  always 
a light  meal.  Though  he  had  not  continued  a total  abstainer, 
as  in  the  early  days  at  Springfield,  he  very  seldom  drank 
wine.  He  never  used  tobacco.  So  careless  was  he  with 
regard  to  food  that  when  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  away  from 
home,  there  was  little  regularity  in  his  meals.  Pie  described 
his  habits  on  such  occasions  as  “browsing  around.”^^ 

Even  when  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  in  command  at  the  White 
House,  he  v/as  not  invariably  dutiful.  An  amusing  instance 
was  observed  by  some  high  officials.  The  luncheon  hour 
arrived  in  the  midst  of  an  important  conference.  Presently, 
a servant  appeared  reminding  Mr.  Lincoln  of  the  hour,  but 
he  took  no  notice.  Another  summons,  and  again  no  notice. 
After  a short  interval,  the  door  of  the  office  flew  open  and 
the  titular  “First  Lady”  flounced  into  the  room,  a ruffled, 
angry  little  figure,  her  eyes  flashing.  With  deliberate  quiet, 
as  if  in  a dream,  Lincoln  rose  slowly,  took  her  calmly. 


324 


LINCOLN 


firmly  by  the  shoulders,  lifted  her,  carried  her  through  the 
doorway,  set  her  down,  closed  the  door,  and  went  on  with 
the  conference  as  if  unconscious  of  an  interruption.^®  Mrs. 
Lincoln  did  not  return.  The  remainder  of  the  incident  is 
unknown. 

The  burden  of  many  anecdotes  that  were  included  in 
the  propaganda  was  his  kindness  to  children.  It  began 
with  his  own.  His  little  rascal  “Tad,”  after  Willie’s  death, 
was  the  apple  of  his  eye.  The  boy  romped  in  and  out  of 
his  office.  Many  a time  he  was  perched  on  his  father’s 
knee  while  great  affairs  of  state  were  under  discussion.®^ 
Lincoln  could  persuade  any  child  from  the  arms  of  its 
mother,  nurse,  or  playfellow,  there  being  a ‘‘peculiar  fasci- 
nation in  his  voice  and  manner  which  the  little  one  could 
not  resist.”®® 

All  impressionable,  imaginative  young  people,  brought 
into  close  association  with  him,  appear  to  have  felt  his  spell. 
His  private  secretaries  were  his  sworn  henchmen.  Hay’s 
diary  rings  with  admiration — the  keen,  discriminating,  sig- 
nificant admiration  of  yoitr  real  observer.  Hay  refers  to 
him  by  pet  names — “The  Ancient,”  “The  Old  Man,”  “The 
Tycoon.”  Lincoln’s  entire  relation  with  these  gifted 
youngsters  may  be  typified  by  one  of  Hay’s  quaintest  anec- 
dotes. Lincoln  had  gone  to  bed,  as  so  often  he  did,  with 
a book.  “A  little  after  midnight  as  I was  writing  . . . 

the  President  came  into  the  office  laughing,  with  a volume 
of  Hood’s  Works  in  his  hand,  to  show  Nicolay  and  me  the 
little  caricature,  ‘An  Unfortunate  Bee-ing’;  seemingly  ut- 
terly unconscious  that  he,  with  his  short  shirt  hanging  about 
his  long  legs,  and  setting  out  behind  like  the  tail  feathers 

an  enormous  ostrich,  was  infinitely  funnier  than  any- 
thing in  the  book  he  was  laughing  at.  What  a man  it  is! 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


325 


Occupied  all  day  with  matters  of  vast  moment,  deeply 
anxious  about  the  fate  of  the  greatest  army  of  the  world, 
with  his  own  plans  and  future  hanging  on  the  events  of 
the  passing  hour,  he  yet  has  such  a wealth  of  simple  bon 
hommie  and  good  fellowship  that  he  gets  out  of  bed  and 
perambulates  the  house  in  his  shirt  to  find  us  that  we  may 
share  with  him  the  fun  of  poor  Hood’s  queer  little  con- 
ceits.”^® 

In  midsummer,  1863,  ‘‘The  Tycoon  is  in  fine  whack.  I 
have  rarely  seen  him  more  serene  and  busy.  He  is  manag- 
ing this  war,  the  draft,  foreign  relations,  and  planning  a 
reconstruction  of  the  Union,  all  at  once.  I never  knew 
with  what  a tyrannous  authority  he  rules  the  Cabinet,  until 
now.  The  most  important  things  he  decides  and  there  is 
no  cavil.  I am  growing  more  convinced  that  the  good  of 
the  country  demands  that  he  should  be  kept  where  he  is 
till  this  thing  is  over.  There  is  no  man  in  the  country  so 
wise,  so  gentle,  and  so  firm.”^^ 

And  again,  “You  may  talk  as  you  please  of  the  Aboli- 
tion Cabal  directing  affairs  from  Washington;  some  well- 
meaning  newspapers  advise  the  President  to  keep  his  fingers 
out  of  the  military  pie,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  The 
truth  is,  if  he  did,  the  pie  would  be  a sorry  mess.  The 
old  man  sits  here  and  wields,  like  a backwoods  Jupiter,  the 
bolts  of  war  and  the  machinery  of  government  with  a hand 
especially  steady  and  equally  firm.  ...  I do  not  know 
whether  the  nation  is  worthy  of  him  for  another  term. 
I know  the  people  want  him.  There  is  no  mistaking  that 
fact.  But  the  politicians  are  strong  yet,  and  he  is  not  their 
‘kind  of  a cat.’  I hope  God  won’t  see  fit  to  scourge  us  for 
our  sins  by  any  of  the  two  or  three  most  prominent  candi- 
dates on  the  ground.”^® 


326 


LINCOLN 


This  was  the  conclusion  growing  everywhere  among 
the  bulk  of  the  people.  There  is  one  more  cause  of  it  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Lincoln  had  not  ceased  to  be  the  literary 
statesman.  In  fact,  he  was  that  more  effectively  than  ever. 
His  genius  for  fable-making  took  a new  turn.  Many  a 
visitor  who  came  to  find  fault,  went  home  to  disseminate 
the  apt  fable  with  which  the  President  had  silenced  his  ob- 
jections and  captured  his  agreement.  His  skill  in  narration 
' also  served  him  well.  Carpenter  repeats  a story  about  An- 
drew Johnson  and  his  crude  but  stern  religion  which  in 
mere  print  is  not  remarkable.  ‘T  have  elsewhere  intimated,” 
comments  Carpenter,  ‘"that  Mr.  Lincoln  was  capable  of 
much  dramatic  power.  ...  It  was  shown  in  his  keen 
appreciation  of  Shakespeare,  and  unrivaled  faculty  of  story- 
telling. The  incident  just  related,  for  example,  was  given^ 
with  a thrilling  effect  which  mentally  placed  Johnson,  for 
the  time  being,  alongside  Luther  and  Cromwell.  Profanity 
or  irreverence  was  lost  sight  of  in  a fervid  utterance  of  a 
highly  wrought  and  great-souled  determination,  united  with 
a rare  exhibition  of  pathos  and  self-abnegation.”^^ 

In  formal  literature,  he  had  done  great  things  upon  a 
far  higher  level  than  any  of  his  writings  previous  to  that 
sudden  change  in  his  style  in  i860.  For  one,  there  was  the 
Fast  Day  Proclamation.  There  was  also  a description  of 
his  country,  of  the  heritage  of  the  nation,  in  the  third  mes- 
sage. Its  aim  was  to  give  imaginative  reality  to  the  national 
idea;  just  as  the  second  message  had  aimed  to  give  argu- 
mentative reality. 

‘There  is  no  line,  straight  or  crooked,  suitable  for  a 
national  boundary  upon  which  to  divide.  Trace  through 
from  east  to  west,  upon  the  line  between  the  free  and  the 
slave  country  and  we  shall  find  a little  more  than  one-third 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE 


327 


of  its  length  are  rivers,  easy  to  be  crossed,  and  populated, 
or  soon  to  be  populated,  thickly  upon  both  sides;  while 
nearly  all  its  remaining  length  are  merely  surveyors’  lines, 
over  which  people  may  walk  back  and  forth  without  any 
consciousness  of  their  presence.  No  part  of  this  line  can 
be  made  any  more  difficult  to  pass  by  writing  it  down  on 
paper  or  parchment  as  a national  boundary.  . . . 

''But  there  is  another  difficulty.  The  great  interior 
region,  bounded  east  by  the  Alleghanies,  north  by  the 
British  dominions,  west  by  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  south 
by  the  line  along  which  the  culture  of  corn  and  cotton 
meets,  and  which  includes  part  of  Virginia,  part  of  Tennes- 
see, all  of  Kentucky,  Ohio,  Indiana,  Michigan,  Wisconsin, 
Illinois,  Missouri,  Kansas,  Iowa,  Minnesota,  and  the  Terri- 
tories of  Dakota,  Nebraska,  and  part  of  Colorado,  already 
has  above  ten  millions  of  people,  and  will  have  fifty  mil- 
lions within  fifty  years,  if  not  prevented  by  any  political 
folly  or  mistake.  It  contains  more  than  one-third  of  the 
country  owned  by  the  United  States — certainly  more  than 
one  million  square  miles.  Once  half  as  populous  as  Massa- 
chusetts already  is,  it  would  have  more  than  seventy-five  mil- 
lions of  people.  A glance  at  the  map  shows  that,  territori- 
ally speaking,  it  is  the  great  body  of  the  republic.  The  other 
parts  are  but  marginal  borders  to  it,  the  magnificent  region 
sloping  west  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  the  Pacific  being 
the  deepest  and  also  the  richest  in  undeveloped  resources. 
In  the  production  of  provisions,  grains,  grasses,  and  all 
which  proceed  from  them,  this  great  interior  region  is 
naturally  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  world.  Ascer- 
tain from  the  statistics  the  small  proportion  of  the  region 
which  has,  as  yet,  been  brought  into  cultivation,  and  also 
the  large  and  rapidly  increasing  amount  of  its  products. 


328 


LINCOLN 


and  we  shall  be  overwhelmed  with  the  magnitude  of  the 
prospect  presented;  and  yet,  this  region  has  no  seacoast, 
touches  no  ocean  anywhere.  As  part  of  one  nation,  its 
people  now  find,  and  may  forever  find,  their  way  to  Europe 
by  New  York,  to  South  America  and  Africa  by  New 
Orleans,  and  to  Asia  by  San  Francisco.  But  separate  our 
common  country  into  two  nations  as  designed  by  the  present 
rebellion,  and  every  man  of  this  great  interior  region  is 
thereby  cut  off  from  some  one  or  more  of  these  outlets — 
not,  perhaps,  by  a physical  barrier,  but  by  embarrassing 
and  onerous  trade  regulations. 

‘‘And  this  is  true  wherever  a dividing  or  boundary  line 
may  be  fixed.  Place  it  between  the  now  free  and  slave 
country,  or  place  it  south  of  Kentucky  or  north  of  Ohio, 
and  still  the  truth  remains  that  none  south  of  it  can  trade 
to  any  port  or  place  north  of  it,  and  none  north  of  it  can 
trade  to  any  port  or  place  south  of  it,  except  upon  terms 
dictated  by  a government  foreign  to  them.  These  outlets 
east,  west,  and  south,  are  indispensable  to  the  well-being  of 
the  people  inhabiting  and  to  inhabit,  this  vast  interior 
region.  Which  of  the  three  may  be  the  best  is  no  proper 
question.  All  are  better  than  either;  and  all  of  right  be- 
long to  that  people  and  to  their  successors  forever.  True 
to  themselves,  they  will  not  ask  where  a line  of  separation 
shall  be,  but  will  vow  rather  that  there  shall  be  no  such 
line.  Nor  are  the  marginal  regions  less  interested  in  these 
communications  to  and  through  them  to  the  great  outside 
world.  They,  too,  and  each  of  them,  must  have  access  to 
this  Egypt  of  the  West  without  paying  toll  at  the  crossing 
of  any  national  boundary. 

“Our  national  strife  springs  not  from  our  permanent 
part,  not  from  the  land  we  inhabit,  not  from  our  national 


THE  TRIBUNE  OF  THE  PEOPLE  329 

homestead.  There  is  no  possible  severing  of  this  but 
would  multiply,  and  not  mitigate,  evils  among  us.  In  all 
its  adaptations  and  aptitudes  it  demands  union  and  abhors 
separation.  In  fact,  it  would  ere  long,  force  reunion,  how- 
ever much  of  blood  and  treasure  the  separation  might  have 
cost.”^^ 

A third  time  he  made  a great  literary  stroke,  gave  ut- 
terance, in  yet  another  form,  to  his  faith  that  the  national 
idea  was  the  one  constant  issue  for  which  he  had  asked  his 
countrymen,  and  would  continue  to  ask  them,  to  die.  It  was 
at  Gettysburg,  November  19,  1863,  in  consecration  of  a 
military  burying-ground,  that  he  delivered,  perhaps,  his 
greatest  utterance: 

“But,  in  a larger  sense,  we  can  not  dedicate — we  can 
not  consecrate — we  can  not  hallow — this  ground.  The 
brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have 
consecrated  it  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract. 
The  world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say 
here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for 
us,  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished 
work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly 
advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us — that  from  these  honored 
dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 
they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion;  that  we  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain; 
that  this  nation  under  God,  shall  have  a new  birth  of  free- 
dom; and  that  government  of  the  people,  for  the  people, 
by  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 


XXVIII 


APPARENT  ASCENDENCY 

Toward  the  end  of  1863,  Lowell  prepared  an  essay  on 
‘‘The  President’s  Policy.”  It  might  almost  be  regarded  as 
a manifesto  of  the  Intellectuals.  That  there  was  now  a 
prospect  of  winning  the  war  “was  mainly  due  to  the  good 
sense,  the  good  humor,  the  sagacity,  the  large-mindedness, 
and  the  unselfish  honesty  of  the  unknown  man  whom  a blind 
fortune,  as  it  seemed,  had  lifted  from  the  crowd  to  the 
most  dangerous  and  difficult  eminence  of  modern  times.” 
When  the  essay  appeared  in  print,  Lincoln  was  greatly 
pleased.  He  wrote  to  the  editors  of  the  North  American 
Review,  ‘T  am  not  the  most  impartial  judge;  yet  with  due 
allowance  for  this,  I venture  to  hope  that  the  article  entitled 
‘The  President’s  Policy’  will  be  of  value  to  the  country.  I 
fear  I am  not  quite  worthy  of  all  which  is  therein  so  kindly 
said  of  me  personally.”^ 

This  very  able  defense  of  his  previous  course  appeared 
as  he  was  announcing  to  the  country  his  final  course.  Pie 
was  now  satisfied  that  winning  the  war  was  but  a question 
of  time.  What  would  come  after  war  was  now  in  his  mind 
the  overshadowing  matter.  4 He  knew  that  the  Vindictive 
temper  had  lost  nothing  of  its  violence.  Chandler’s  savagery 
— his  belief  that  the  Southerners  had  forfeited  the  right  to 
life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness — was  still  the  Vin- 
dictive creed.  Vae  victis!  When  war  ended,  they  meant 
to  set  their  feet  on  the  neck  of  the  vanquished  foe.  Further- 

330 


APPARENT  ASCENDENCY 


331 


more,  Lincoln  was  not  deceived  as  to  why  they  were  lying 
low  at  this  particular  minute.  Ears  had  been  flattened  to 
the  ground  and  they  were  heeding  what  the  ground  had 
said.  The  President  was  too  popular  for  them  to  risk  at- 
tacking him  without  an  obvious  issue.  Their  former  issue 
had  been  securely  appropriated  by  the  Democrats.  Where 
could  they  find  another?  With  consummate  boldness  Lin- 
coln presented  them  an  issue.  It  was  reconstruction. 
When  Congress  met,  he  communicated  the  text  of  a 
“Proclamation  of  Amnesty  and  Reconstruction.”-  This 
great  document  on  which  all  his  concluding  policy  was 
based,  offered  “a  full  pardon”  with  “restoration  of  all 
rights  of  property,  except  as  to  slaves,  or  in  property  cases, 
where  rights  of  third  persons  shall  have  intervened”  upon 
subscribing  to  an  oath  of  allegiance  which  required  only  a 
full  acceptance  of  the  authority  of  the  United  States.  This 
amnesty  was  to  be  extended  to  all  persons  except  a few 
groups,  such  as  officers  above  the  rank  of  colonel  and 
former  officials  of  the  United  States.  The  Proclamation 
also  provided  that  whenever,  in  any  Seceded  State,  the  new 
oath  should  be  taken  by  ten  per  cent,  of  all  those  who  were 
qualified  to  vote  under  the  laws  of  i860,  these  ten  per  cent, 
should  be  empowered  to  set  up  a new  State  government. 

From  the  Vindictive  point  of  view,  here  was  a startling 
announcement.  Lincoln  had  declared  for  a degree  of 
magnanimity  that  was  as  a re^  rag  to  a bull.  He  had  also 
carried  to  its  ultimate  his  assumption  of  war  powers.  No 
request  was  made  for  congressional  cooperation.  The  mes- 
sage which  the  Proclamation  accompanied  was  informative 
only. 

By  this  time,  the  Vindictive  Coalition  of  1861  was 
gradually  coming  together  again.  Or,  more  truly,  perhaps, 


332 


LINCOLN 


various  of  its  elements  were  fusing  into  a sort  of  descend- 
ant of  the  old  coalition.  The  leaders  of  the  new  Vindictive 
group  were  much  the  same  as  the  leaders  of  the  earlier 
group.  There  was  one  conspicuous  addition.  During  the 
next  six  months,  Henry  Winter  Davis  held  for  a time  the 
questionable  distinction  of  being  Lincoln’s  most  inveterate 
enemy.  He  was  a member  of  the  House.  In  the  House 
many  young  and  headstrong  politicians  rallied  about  him. 
The  Democrats  at  times  craftily  followed  his  lead.  Despite 
the  older  and  more  astute  Vindictives  of  the  Senate, 
Chandler,  Wade  and  the  rest  who  knew  that  their  time  had 
not  come,  Davis,  with  his  ardent  followers,  took  up  the 
President’s  challenge.  Davis  brought  in  a bill  designed  to 
complete  the  reorganization  of  the  old  Vindictive  Coalition. 
It  appealed  to  the  enemies  of  presidential  prerogative,  to 
all  those  who  wanted  the  road  to  reconstruction  made  as 
hard  as  possible,  and  to  the  Abolitionists.  This  bill,  in  so 
many  words,  transferred  the  whole  matter  of  reconstruc- 
tion from  the  President  to  Congress ; it  required  a majority 
(instead  of  one-tenth) of  all  the  male  citizens  of  a Seceded 
State  as  the  basis  of  a new  government;  it  exacted  of  this 
majority  a pledge  never  to  pay  any  State  debt  contracted 
during  the  Confederacy,  and  also  the  perpetual  prohibition 
of  slavery  in  their  State  constitution. 

Davis  got  his  bill  through  the  House,  but  his  allies  in 
the  Senate  laid  it  aside.  They  understood  the  country  too 
well  not  to  see  that  they  must  wait  for  something  to  happen. 
If  the  President  made  any  mistake,  if  anything  went  wrong 
with  the  army — they  remembered  the  spring  of  1862,  Mc- 
Clellan’s failure,  and  how  Chandler  followed  it  up.  And 
at  this  moment  no  man  was  chafing  more  angrily  because 
of  what  the  ground  was  saying,  no  man  was  watching  the 


APPARENT  ASCENDENCY 


333 


President  more  keenly,  than  Chandler.  History  is  said  to 
repeat  itself,  and  all  things  are  supposed  to  come  to  him 
who  waits.  While  Davis’s  bill  was  before  the  House,  Lin- 
coln accepted  battle  with  the  Vindictives  in  a way  that  was 
entirely  unostentatious,  but  that  burned  his  bridges.  He 
pressed  forward  the  organization  of  a new  State  government 
in  Louisiana  under  Federal  auspices.  He  wrote  to  Michael 
Hahn,  the  newly  chosen  governor  of  this  somewhat  ficti- 
tious State:  ‘T  congratulate  you  on  having  fixed  your 
name  in  history  as  the  first  Free  State  governor  of  Louisi- 
ana.”^ 

Meanwhile,  the  hotheads  of  the  House  again  followed 
Davis’s  lead  and  flung  defiance  in  Lincoln’s  face.  Napoleon, 
who  had  all  along  coquetted  alarmingly  with  the  Confed-' 
erates,  had  also  pushed  ahead  with  his  insolent  conquest  of 
Mexico.  Lincoln  and  Seward,  determined  to  have  but  one 
war  on  their  hands  at  a time,  had  skilfully  evaded  com- 
mitting themselves.  The  United  States  had  neither  pro- 
tested against  the  action  of  Napoleon,  nor  in  any  way  ad- 
mitted its  propriety.  Other  men  besides  the  Vindictives 
were  biding  their  time.  But  here  the  hotheads  thought 
they  saw  an  opportunity.  Davis  brought  in  a resolution 
which  amounted  to  a censure  of  the  Administration  for  not 
demanding  the  retirement  of  the  French  from  Mexico. 
This  was  one  of  those  times  when  the  Democrats  played 
politics  and  followed  Davis.  The  motion  was  carried 
unanimously.^  It  was  so  much  of  a sensation  that  the 
American  Minister  at  Paris,  calling  on  the  Imperial  Min- 
ister of  Foreign  Affairs,  was  met  by  the  curt  question,  “Do 
you  bring  peace  or  war?” 

But  it  was  not  in  the  power  of  the  House  to  draw  Lin- 
coln’s fire  until  he  chose  to  be  drawn.  He  ignored  its 


334 


LINCOLN 


action.  The  Imperial  Government  was  informed  that  the 
acts  of  the  House  of  Representatives  were  not  the  acts  of 
the  President,  and  that  in  relation  to  France,  if  the  Presi- 
dent should  change  his  policy,  the  Imperial  Government 
would  be  duly  informed.^ 

It  was  Lincoln’s  fate  to  see  his  policy  once  again  at  the 
mercy  of  his  Commanding  General.  That  was  his  situation 
in  the  spring  of  1862  when  everything  hung  on  McClellan 
who  failed  him;  again  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  when 
McClellan  so  narrowly  saved  him.  The  spring  of ' 1864 
paralleled,  in  this  respect,  that  other  spring  two  years 
earlier.  To  be  sure,  Lincoln’s  position  was  now  much 
stronger;  he  had  a great  personal  following  on  which  he 
relied.  But  just  how  strong  it  was  he  did  not  know.  He 
was  taking  a great  risk  forcing  a policy  high-handed  in 
defiance  of  Congress,  where  all  his  bitterest  enemies  were 
entrenched,  glowering.  If  his  General  failed  him  now — 

The  man  on  whom  this  huge  responsibility  rested  was 
Grant.  Lincoln  had  summoned  him  from  the  West  and 
placed  him  at  the  head  of  all  the  armies  of  the  Republic. 
As  to  Halleck  who  had  long  since  proved  himself  perfectly 
useless,  he  was  allowed  to  lapse  into  obscurity. 

Grant  has  preserved  in  his  Memoirs  his  first  confidential 
talk  with  Lincoln : “He  told  me  he  did  not  want  to  know 
what  I proposed  to  do.  But  he  submitted  a plan  of  cam- 
paign of  his  own  that  he  wanted  me  to  hear  and  then  do 
as  I pleased  about.  He  brought  out  a map  of  Virginia  on 
which  he  had  evidently  marked  every  position  occupied  by 
the  Federal  and  Confederate  armies  up  to  that  time.  He 
pointed  out  on  the  map  two  streams  which  empty  into  the 
Potomac,  and  suggested  that  an  army  might  be  moved  on 
boats  and  landed  between  the  mouths  of  those  streams.  We 


APPARENT  ASCENDENCY 


335 


would  then  have  the  Potomac  to  bring  our  supplies,  and 
the  tributaries  would  protect  our  flanks  while  we  moved 
out.  I listened  respectfully,  but  did  not  suggest  that  the 
same  streams  would  protect  Lee’s  flanks  while  he  was 
shutting  us  up.”® 

Grant  set  out  for  the  front  in  Virginia.  Lincoln’s  part- 
ing words  were  this  note:  “Not  expecting  to  see  you  again 
before  the  spring  campaign  opens,  I wish  to  express  in  this 
way  my  entire  satisfaction  with  what  you  have  done  up  to 
this  time,  so  far  as  I understand  it.  The  particulars  of 
your  plans  I neither  know  nor  seek  to  know'.  You  are 
vigilant  and  self-reliant;  and,  pleased  with  this,  I wish  not 
to  obtrude  any  constraints  or  restraints  upon  you.  While 
I am  very  anxious  that  any  great  disaster  or  capture  of  our 
men  in  great  numbers  shall  be  avoided,  I know  these  points 
are  less  likely  to  escape  your  attention  than  they  would  be 
mine.  If  there  is  anything  wanting  which  is  within  my 
power  to  give,  do  not  fail  to  let  me  know  it.  And  now, 
with  a brave  army  and  a just  cause,  may  God  sustain  you.”'^ 


XXIX 


CATASTROPHE 

If  the  politicians  needed  a definite  warning,  in  addition 
to  what  the  ground  was  saying,  it  was  given  by  an  incident 
that  centered  upon  Chase.  A few  bold  men  whose  sense 
of  the  crowd  was  not  so  acute  as  it  might  have  been,  at- 
tempted  to  work  up  a Chase  boom.  At  the  instance  of 
Senator  Pomeroy,  a secret  paper  known  to-day  as  the  Pom- 
eroy Circular,  was  started  on  its  travels.  The  Circular 
aimed  to  make  Chase  the  Vindictive  candidate.  Like  all 
the  other  anti-Lincoln  moves  of  the  early  part  of  1864,  it 
was  premature.  The  shrewd  old  Senators  who  were 
silently  marshaling  the  Vindictive  forces,  let  it  alone. 

Chase’s  ambition  was  fully  understood  at  the  White 
House.  During  the  previous  year,  his  irritable  self-con- 
sciousness had  led  to  quarrels  with  the  President,  generally 
over  patronage,  and  more  than  once  he  had  offered  his 
resignation.  On  one  occasion,  Lincoln  went  to  his  house 
and  begged  him  to  reconsider.  Alone  among  the  Cabinet, 
Chase  had  failed  to  take  the  measure  of  Lincoln  and  still 
considered  him  a second-rate  person,  much  his  inferior.  He 
rated  very  high  the  services  to  his  country  of  the  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury  whom  he  considered  the  logical  successor 
to  the  Presidency. 

Lincoln  refused  to  see  what  Chase  was  after.  “I  have 
determined,”  he  told  Hay,  “to  shut  my  eyes  as  far  as  pos- 
sible to  everything  of  the  sort.  Mr.  Chase  makes  a good 

336 


CATASTROPHE 


337 


secretary  and  I shall  keep  him  where  he  is7’^  In  lighter 
vein,  he  said  that  Chase’s  presidential  ambition  was  like  a 
‘'chin  fly”  pestering  a horse;  it  led  to  his  putting  all  the 
energy  he  had  into  his  work.^ 

When  a copy  of  the  Circular  found  its  way  to  the  White 
House,  Lincoln  refused  to  read  it.^  Soon  afterward  it  fell 
into  the  hands  of  an  unsympathetic  or  indiscreet  editor  and 
was  printed.  There  was  a hubbub.  Chase  offered  to  re- 
sign. Lincoln  wrote  to  him  in  reply: 

“My  knowledge  of  Mr.  Pomeroy’s  letter  having  been 
made  public  came  to  me  only  the  day  you  wrote  but  I had, 
in  spite  of  myself,  known  of  its  existence  several  days 
before.  I have  not  yet  read  it,  and  I think  I shall  not.  I 
was  not  shocked  or  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  the  letter 
because  I had  had  knowledge  of  Mr.  Pomeroy’s  committee, 
and  of  secret  issues  which  I supposed  came  from  it,  and  of 
secret  agents  who  I supposed  were  sent  out  by  it,  for 
several  weeks.  I have  known  just  as  little  of  these  things 
as  my  friends  have  allowed  me  to  know.  They  bring  the 
documents  to  me,  but  I do  not  read  them;  they  tell  me 
what  they  think  fit  to  tell  me,  but  I do  not  inquire  for 
more.  I fully  concur  with  you  that  neither  of  us  can  be 
justly  held  responsible  for  what  our  respective  friends  may 
do  without  our  instigation  or  countenance;  and  I assure 
you,  as  you  have  assured  me,  that  no  assault  has  been  made 
upon  you  by  my  instigation  or  with  my  countenance. 
Whether  you  shall  remain  at  the  head  of  the  Treasury  De- 
partment is  a question  which  I will  not  allow  myself  to 
consider  from  any  standpoint  other  than  my  judgment  of 
the  public  service,  and  in  that  view,  I do  not  perceive  oc- 
casion for  a change.”^ 

But  this  was  not  the  end  of  the  incident.  The  country 


338 


LINCOLN 


promptly  repudiated  Chase.  His  own  state  led  the  way. 
A caucus  of  Union  members  of  the  Ohio  Legislature  re- 
solved that  the  people  and  the  soldiers  of  Ohio  demanded 
the  reelection  of  Lincoln.  In  a host  of  similar  resolutions, 
Legislative  caucuses,  political  conventions,  clubs,  societies, 
prominent  individuals  not  in  the  political  machine,  all  ring- 
ingly  declared  for  Lincoln,  the  one  proper  candidate  of  the 
“Union  party” — as  the  movement  was  labeled  in  a last  and 
relatively  successful  attempt  to  break  party  lines. 

As  the  date  of  the  “Union  Convention”  approached, 
Lincoln  put  aside  an  opportunity  to  gratify  the  Vindictives. 
Following  the  Emancipation  Proclamation,  the  recruiting 
offices  had  been  opened  to  negroes.  Thereupon  the  Con- 
federate government  threatened  to  treat  black  soldiers  as 
brigands,  and  to  refuse  to  their  white  officers  the  protection 
of  the  laws  of  war.  A cry  went  up  in  the  North  for  re- 
prisal. It  was  not  the  first  time  the  cry  had  been  raised. 
In  1862  Lincoln’s  spokesman  in  Congress,  Browning,  had 
withstood  a proposal  for  the  trial  of  General  Buckner  by 
the  civil  authorities  of  Kentucky.  Browning  opposed  such 
a course  on  the  ground  that  it  would  lead  to  a policy  of 
retaliation,  and  make  of  the  war  a gratification  of  revenge.® 
The  Confederate  threat  gave  a new  turn  to  the  discussion. 
Frederick  Douglas,  the  most  influential  negro  of  the  time, 
obtained  an  audience  with  Lincoln  and  begged  for  reprisals. 
Lincoln  would  not  consent.  So  effective  was  his  argument 
that  even  the  ardent  negro,  convinced  that  his  race  was 
about  to  suffer  persecution,  was  satisfied. 

“I  shall  never  forget,”  Douglas  wrote,  “the  benignant 
expression  of  his  face,  the  tearful  look  of  his  eye,  the 
quiver  in  his  voice,  when  he  deprecated  a resort  to  retalia- 
tory measures.  ‘Once  begun,’  said  he,  ‘I  do  not  know 


CATASTROPHE 


339 


where  such  a measure  would  stop.’  He  said  he  could  not 
take  men  out  and  kill  them  in  cold  blood  for  what  was 
done  by  others.  If  he  could  get  hold  of  the  persons  who 
w'ere  guilty  of  killing  the  colored  prisoners  in  cold  blood, 
the  case  Vv^ould  be  different,  but  he  could  not  kill  the  inno- 
cent for  the  guilty.”® 

In  April,  1864,  the  North  was  swept  by  a wild  rumor 
of  deliberate  massacre  of  prisoners  at  Fort  Pillow.  Here 
was  an  opportunity  for  Lincoln  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
the  Vindictives.  The  President  was  to  make  a speech  at  a 
fair  held  in  Baltimore,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Com- 
mission. The  audience  was  keen  to  hear  him  denounce  the 
reputed  massacre,  and  eager  to  applaud  a promise  of  re- 
prisal. Instead,  he  deprecated  hasty  judgment;  insisting 
that  the  rumor  had  not  been  verified ; that  nothing  should  be 
done  on  the  strength  of  mere  report. 

“It  is  a mistake  to  suppose  the  government  is  indifferent 
in  this  matter,  or  is  not  doing  the  best  it  can  in  regard  to 
it.  We  do  not  to-day  know  that  a colored  soldier  or  white 
officer  commanding  colored  soldiers  has  been  massacred 
by  the  Rebels  when  made  a prisoner.  We  fear  it — believe 
it,  I may  say — but  we  do  not  know  it.  To  take  the  life  of 
one  of  their  prisoners  on  the  assumption  that  they  murder 
ours,  when  it  is  short  of  certainty  that  they  do  murder 
ours,  might  be  too  serious,  too  cruel  a mistake.”^ 

What  a tame,  spiritless  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  Vin- 
dictives! A different  opportunity  to  lay  hold  of  public 
opinion  he  made  the  most  of.  And  yet,  here  also,  he  spoke 
in  that  carefully  guarded  way,  making  sure  he  was  not 
understood  to  say  more  than  he  meant,  which  most  poli- 
ticians would  have  pronounced  over-scrupulous.  A depu- 
tation of  working  men  from  New  York  were  received  at  the 


340 


LINCOLN 


White  House.  ‘‘The  honorary  membership  in  your  asso- 
ciation/’ said  he,  “as  generously  tendered,  is  gratefully  ac- 
cepted. . . . You  comprehend,  as  your  address  shows, 

that  the  existing  rebellion  means  more,  and  tends  to  more, 
than  the  perpetuation  of  African  slavery — that  it  is,  in  fact, 
a war  upon  the  rights  of  all  working  people.” 

After  reviewing  his  own  argument  on  this  subject  in 
the  second  message,  he  concluded : 

“The  views  then  expressed  now  remain  unchanged,  nor 
have  I much  to  add.  None  are  so  deeply  interested  to 
resist  the  present  rebellion  as  the  working  people.  Let 
them  beware  of  prejudices,  working  division  and  hostility 
among  themselves.  The  most  notable  feature  of  a dis- 
turbance in  your  city  last  summer  was  the  hanging  of  some 
v/orking  people  by  other  working  people.  It  should  never 
be  so.  The  strongest  bond  of  human  sympathy  outside  of 
the  family  relation,  should  be  one  uniting  all  working 
people,  of  all  nations,  and  tongues,  and  kindreds.  Nor 
should  this  lead  to  a war  upon  property,  or  the  owners  of 
property.  Property  is  the  fruit  of  labor;  property  is  de- 
sirable; is  a positive  good  in  the  world.  That  some  should 
be  rich  shows  that  others  may  become  rich,  and  hence  is 
just  encouragement  to  industry  and  enterprise.  Let  not 
him  who  is  houseless  pull  down  the  house  of  another,  but 
let  him  work  diligently  and  build  one  for  himself,  thus  by 
example  assuming  that  his  own  shall  be  safe  from  violence 
when  built.”® 

Lincoln  was  never  more  anxious  than  in  this  fateful 
spring  when  so  many  issues  were  hanging  in  the  balance. 
Nevertheless,  in  all  his  relations  with  the  world,  his  firm 
serenity  was  not  broken.  Though  subject  to  depression  so 
deep  that  his  associates  could  not  penetrate  it,  he  kept  it 


CATASTROPHE 


341 


sternly  to  himself.®  He  showed  the  world  a lighter,  more 
graceful  aspect  than  ever  before.  A precious  record  of  his 
later  mood  is  the  account  of  him  set  down  by  Frank  B. 
Carpenter,  the  portrait  painter,  a man  of  note  in  his  day, 
who  was  an  inmate  of  the  White  House  during  the  first  half 
of  1864.  Carpenter  was  painting  a picture  of  the  ‘‘Signing 
of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation.”  He  saw  Lincoln  in- 
formally at  all  sorts  of  odd  times,  under  all  sorts  of  condi- 
tions. “All  familiar  with  him,”  says  Carpenter,  “will  re- 
member the  weary  air  which  became  habitual  during  his  last 
years.  This  was  more  of  the  mind  than  of  the  body,  and 
no  rest  and  recreation  which  he  allowed  himself  could  re- 
lieve it.  As  he  sometimes  expressed  it,  ‘no  remedy  seemed 
ever  to  reach  the  tired  spot.’ 

A great  shadow  was  darkening  over  him.  He  was 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  he  had  not  long  to  live. 
None  the  less,  his  poise  became  more  conspicuous,  his  com- 
mand over  himself  and  others  more  distinguished,  as  the 
months  raced  past.  In  truth  he  had  worked  through  a slow 
but  profound  transformation.  The  Lincoln  of  1864  was 
so  far  removed  from  the  Lincoln  of  Pigeon  Creek — ^but 
logically,  naturally  removed,  through  the  absorption  of  the 
outer  man  by  the  inner — that  inevitably  one  thinks  of 
Shakespeare’s — > 

“ . . . change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange.” 

Along  with  the  weakness,  the  contradictions  of  his 
earlier  self,  there  had  also  fallen  away  from  him  the  mere 
grossness  that  had  belonged  to  him  as  a peasant.  Car- 
penter is  unconditional  that  in  six  months  of  close  intimacy, 
seeing  him  in  company  with  all  sorts  of  people,  he  never 


342 


LINCOLN 


heard  from  Lincoln  an  offensive  story.  He  quotes  Seward 
and  Lincoln’s  family  physician  to  the  same  effect4^ 

The  painter,  like  many  others,  was  impressed  by  the 
tragic  cast  of  his  expression,  despite  the  surface  mirth. 
‘TIis  complexion,  at  this  time,  was  inclined  to  sallowness 
. . his  eyes  were  bluish  gray  in  color — always  in  deep 

shadow,  however,  from  the  upper  lids  which  were  unusually 
heavy  (reminding  me  in  this  respect  of  Stuart’s  portrait  of 
Washington)  and  the  expression  was  remarkably  pensive 
and  tender,  often  inexpressibly  sad,  as  if  the  reservoir  of 
tears  lay  very  near  the  surface — a fact  proved  not  only  by 
the  response  which  accounts  of  suffering  and  sorrow  in- 
variably drew  forth,  but  by  circumstances  which  would 
ordinarily  affect  few  men  in  his  position.”^^  As  a result 
of  the  great  strain  to  which  he  was  subjected  “his  demeanor 
and  disposition  changed — so  gradually  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  say  when  the  change  began.  . . . He  con- 

tinued always  the  same  kindly,  genial,  and  cordial  spirit  he 
had  been  at  first;  but  the  boisterous  laughter  became  less 
frequent,  year  by  year;  the  eye  grew  veiled  by  constant 
meditation  on  momentous  subjects;  the  air  of  reserve  and 
detachment  from  his  surroundings  increased.  He  aged 
with  great  rapidity.”^^ 

Every  Saturday  afternoon  the  Marine  Band  gave  an 
open-air  concert  in  the  grounds  of  the  White  House.  One 
afternoon  Lincoln  appeared  upon  the  portico.  There  was 
instant  applause  and  cries  for  a speech.  “Bowing  his 
thanks  and  excusing  himself,  he  stepped  back  into  the  re- 
tirement of  the  circular  parlor,  remarking  (to  Carpenter) 
with  a disappointed  air,  as  he  reclined  on  a sofa,  T wish 
they  would  let  me  sit  there  quietly  and  enjoy  the  music.’  ” 
His  kindness  to  others  was  unfailing.  It  was  this  harassed 


CATASTROPHE 


343 


statesman  who  ^'came  into  the  studio  one  day  and  found 
(Carpenter’s)  little  boy  of  two  summers  playing  on  the 
floor.  A member  of  the  Cabinet  was  with  him ; but  laying 
aside  all  restraint,  he  took  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms  and 
they  were  soon  on  the  best  of  terms.’’  While  his  younger 
son  ‘‘Tad”  was  with  his  mother  on  a journey,  Lincoln  tele- 
graphed : ‘‘Tell  Tad,  father  and  the  goats  are  well,  especi- 
ally the  goats.”^^  He  found  time  one  bright  morning  in 
May  to  review  the  Sunday-school  children  of  Washington 
who  filed  past  “cheering  as  if  their  very  lives  depended 
upon  it,”  while  Lincoln  stood  at  a window  “enjoying  the 
scene  . . . making  pleasant  remarks  about  a face  that 

now  and  then  struck  him.”^^  Carpenter  told  him  that  no 
other  president  except  Washington  had  placed  himself  so 
securely  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  “Homely,  honest, 
ungainly  Lincoln,”  said  Asa  Gray,  in  a letter  to  Darvv^in,  “is 
the  representative  man  of  the  country.” 

Plowever,  two  groups  of  men  in  his  own  party  were 
sullenly  opposed  to  him — the  relentless  Vindictives  and  cer- 
tain irresponsible  free  lances  who  named  themselves  the 
“Radical  Democracy.”  In  the  latter  group,  Fremont  was 
the  hero;  Wendell  Phillips,  the  greatest  advocate.  They 
were  extremists  in  all  things;  many  of  them  Agnostics. 
Furious  against  Lincoln,  but  unwilling  to  go  along  with 
the  waiting  policy  of  the  Vindictives,  these  visionaries  held 
a convention  at  Cleveland;  voted  down  a resolution  that 
recognized  God  as  an  ally ; and  nominated  Fremont  for  the 
Presidency.  A witty  comment  on  the  movement — one  that 
greatly  amused  Lincoln — was  the  citation  of  a verse  in  first 
Samuel:  “And  every  one  that  was  in  distress,  and  every 
one  that  was  in  debt,  and  every  one  that  was  discontented, 
gathered  themselves  unto  him;  and  he  became  a captain 


344 


LINCOLN 


over  them;  and  there  were  with  him  about  four  hundred 
men.” 

If  anything  was  needed  to  keep  the  dissatisfied  Senators 
in  the  party  ranks,  it  was  this  rash  “bolt,”  Though  Fre- 
mont had  been  their  man  in  the  past,  he  had  thrown  the  fat 
in  the  fire  by  setting  up  an  independent  ticket.  Silently, 
the  wise  opportunists  of  the  Senate  and  all  their  henchmen, 
stood  aside  at  the  “Union  convention” — which  they  called 
the  Republican  Convention — June  seventh,  and  took  their 
medicine. 

There  was  no  doubt  of  the  tempest  of  enthusiasm  among 
the  majority  of  the  delegates.  It  was  a Lincoln  ovation. 

In  responding  the  next  day  to  a committee  of  congratu- 
lation, Lincoln  said : “I  am  not  insensible  at  all  to  the  per- 
sonal compliment  there  is  in  this,  and  yet  I do  not  allow 
myself  to  believe  that  any  but  a small  portion  of  it  is  to  be 
appropriated  as  a personal  compliment.  ...  I do  not 
allow  myself  to  suppose  that  either  the  Convention  or  the 
[National  Union]  League  have  concluded  to  decide  that  I 
am  the  greatest  or  best  man  in  America,  but  rather  they 
have  concluded  that  it  is  best  not  to  swap  horses  while  cross- 
ing the  river,  and  have  further  concluded  that  I am  not  so 
poor  a horse  that  they  might  not  make  a botch  of  it  trying 
to  swap.”^® 

Carpenter  records  another  sort  of  congratulation  a few 
days  later  that  brought  out  the  graceful  side  of  this  man 
whom  most  people  still  supposed  to  be  hopelessly  awkward. 
It  happened  on  a Saturday.  Carpenter  had  invited  friends 
to  sit  in  his  painting  room  and  oversee  the  crowd  while 
listening  to  the  music.  “Towards  the  close  of  the  concert, 
the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  the  President  came  in,  as  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  doing,  alone.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cropsey 


CATASTROPHE 


345 


had  been  presented  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  morning; 
and  as  he  came  forward,  half  hesitatingly,  Mrs.  C.,  who 
held  a bunch  of  beautiful  flowers  in  her  hand,  tripped  for- 
ward playfully,  and  said:  ‘Allow  me,  Mr.  President,  to 
present  you  with  a bouquet!’  The  situation  was  momen- 
tarily embarrassing;  and  I was  puzzled  to  know  how  ‘His 
Excellency’  would  get  out  of  it.  With  no  appearance  of 
discomposure,  he  stooped  down,  took  the  flowers,  and,  look- 
ing from  them  into  the  sparkling  eyes  and  radiant  face  of 
the  lady,  said,  with  a gallantry  I was  unprepared  for— ^ 
‘Really,  madam,  if  you  give  them  to  me,  and  they  are  mine, 
I think  I can  not  possibly  make  so  good  use  of  them  as  to 
present  them  to  you,  in  return !’ 

In  gaining  the  nomination,  Lincoln  had  not,  as  yet,  at- 
tained security  for  his  plans.  Grant  was  still  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  By  a curious  irony,  the  significance  of  his 
struggle  with  Lee  during  May,  his  steady  advance  by  the 
left  flank,  had  been  misapprehended  in  the  North.  Look- 
ing at  the  map,  the  country  saw  that  he  was  pushing  south- 
ward, and  again  southward,  on  Virginia  soil.  McClellan, 
Pope,  Burnside,  Hooker,  with  them  it  had  been : 

“He  who  fights  and  runs  away 
May  live  to  fight  another  day.” 

But  Grant  kept  on.  He  struck  Lee  in  the  furious  battle  of 
the  Wilderness,  and  moved  to  the  left,  farther  south.  “Vic- 
tory!” cried  the  Northern  newspapers,  “Lee  isn’t  able  to 
stop  him.”  The  same  delusion  was  repeated  after  Spottsyl- 
vania  where  the  soldiers,  knowing  more  of  war  than  did  the 
newspapers,  pinned  to  their  coats  slips  of  paper  bearing 
their  names;  identification  of  the  bodies  might  be  difficult. 
The  popular  mistake  continued  throughout  that  dreadful 


346, 


LINCOLN 


campaign.  The  Convention  was  still  under  the  delusion  of 
victory. 

Lincoln  also  appears  to  have  stood  firm  until  the  last 
minute  in  the  common  error.  But  the  report  of  Grant’s 
losses,  more  than  the  whole  of  Lee’s  army,  filled  him  with 
horror.  During  these  days.  Carpenter  had  complete  free- 
dom of  the  President’s  office  and  ‘‘intently  studied  every 
line  and  shade  of  expression  in  that  furrowed  face.  In 
repose,  it  was  the  saddest  face  I ever  knew.  There  were 
days  when  I could  scarcely  look  into  it  without  crying. 
During  the  first  week  of  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness  he 
scarcely  slept  at  all.  Passing  through  the  main  hall  of  the 
domestic  apartment  on  one  of  these  days,  I met  him,  clad  in 
a long,  morning  wrapper,  pacing  back  and  forth  a narrow 
passage  leading  to  one  of  the  windows,  his  hands  behind 
him,  great  black  rings  under  his  eyes,  his  head  bent  for- 
ward upon  his  breast — altogether  such  a picture  of  the 
effects  of  sorrow,  care,  and  anxiety  as  would  have  melted 
the  hearts  of  the  worst  of  his  adversaries,  who  so  mis- 
takenly applied  to  him  the  epithets  of  tyrant  and  usurper. 

Despite  these  sufferings,  Lincoln  had  not  the  slightest 
thought  of  giving  way.  Not  in  him  any  likeness  to  the 
sentimentalists,  Greeley  and  all  his  crew,  who  were  exultant 
martyrs  when  things  were  going  right,  and  shrieking  paci- 
fists the  moment  anything  went  wrong.  In  one  of  the 
darkest  moments  of  the  year,  he  made  a brief  address  at  a 
Sanitary  Fair  in  Philadelphia. 

“Speaking  of  the  present  campaign,”  said  he,  “General 
Grant  is  reported  to  have  said,  ‘I  am  going  to  fight  it  out  on 
this  line  if  it  takes  all  summer.’  This  war  has  taken  three 
years;  it  was  begun  or  accepted  upon  the  line  of  restoring 
the  national  authority  over  the  whole  national  domain,  and 


CATASTROPHE 


347 


for  the  American  people,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  enables 
me  to  speak,  I say  we  are  going  through  on  this  line  if  it 
takes  three  years  more.”^^  He  made  no  attempt  to  affect 
Grant’s  course.  He  had  put  him  in  supreme  command  and 
would  leave  everything  to  his  judgment.  And  then  came 
the  colossal  blunder  at  Cold  Harbor.  Grant  stood  again 
where  McClellan  had  stood  two  years  before.  He  stood 
there  defeated.  He  could  think  of  nothing  to  do  but  just 
what  McClellan  had  wanted  to  do' — abandon  the  immediate 
enterprise,  make  a great  detour  to  the  Southwest,  and  start 
a new  campaign  on  a different  plan.  Two  years  with  all 
their  terrible  disasters,  and  this  was  all  that  had  come  of 
it ! Practically  no  gain,  and  a death-roll  that  staggered  the 
nation.  A wail  went  over  the  North.  After  all,  was  the 
war  hopeless?  Was  Lee  invincible?  Was  the  best  of  the 
Northern  manhood  perishing  to  no  result? 

Greeley,  perhaps  the  most  hysterical  man  of  genius 
America  has  produced,  made  his  paper  the  organ  of  the 
wail.  He  wrote  frantic  appeals  to  the  government  to  cease 
fighting,  do  what  could  be  done  by  negotiation,  and  if  noth- 
ing could  be  done — at  least,  stop  “these  rivers  of  human 
blood.” 

The  Vindictives  saw  their  opportunity.  They  would 
capitalize  the  wail.  The  President  should  be  dealt  with 
yet. 


XXX 


THE  PRESIDENT  VERSUS  THE  VINDICTIVES 

Now  that  the  Vindictives  had  made  up  their  minds  to 
fight,  an  occasion  was  at  their  hands.  Virtually,  they  de- 
clared war  on  the  President  by  refusing  to  recognize  a 
State  government  which  he  had  set  up  in  Arkansas.  Con- 
gress would  not  admit  Senators  or  Representatives  from 
the  Reconstructed  State.  But  on  this  issue,  Lincoln  was 
as  resolute  to  fight  to  a finish  as  were  any  of  his  detractors. 
He  wrote  to  General  Steele,  commanding  in  Arkansas : 

“I  understand  that  Congress  declines  to  admit  to  seats 
the  persons  sent  as  Senators  and  Representatives  from 
Arkansas.  These  persons  apprehend  that,  in  consequence, 
you  may  not  support  the  new  State  government  there  as 
you  otherwise  would.  My  wish  is  that  you  give  that  gov- 
ernment and  the  people  there  the  same  support  and  protec- 
tion that  you  would  if  the  members  had  been  admitted, 
because  in  no  event,  nor  in  any  view  of  the  case,  can  this 
do  harm,  while  it  will  be  the  best  you  can  do  toward  sup- 
pressing the  rebellion.”^ 

The  same  day  Chase  resigned.  The  reason  he  assigned 
was,  again,  the  squabble  over  patronage.  He  had  insisted 
on  an  appointment  of  which  the  President  disapproved. 
Exactly  what  moved  him  may  be  questioned.  Chase  never 
gave  his  complete  confidence,  not  even  to  his  diary.  Whether 
he  thought  that  the  Vindictives  would  now  take  him  up  as 
a rival  of  Lincoln,  continues  doubtful.  Many  men  were 

348 


PRESIDENT  VERSUS  VINDICTIVES  349 


staggered  by  his  action.  Chittenden,  the  Registrar  of  the 
Treasury,  was  thrown  into  a panic.  “Mr.  President,''  said 
he,  “this  is  worse  than  another  Bull  Run.  Pray  let  me  go 
to  Secretary  Chase  and  see  if  I can  not  induce  him  to 
withdraw  his  resignation.  Its  acceptance  now  might  cause 
a financial  panic."  But  Lincoln  was  in  a fighting  m.ood. 
“Chase  thinks  he  has  become  indispensable  to  the  country," 
he  told  Chittenden.  . . . “He  also  thinks  he  ought  to 

be  President ; he  has  no  doubt  whatever  about  that.  . . . 

He  is  an  able  financier,  a great  statesman,  and  at  the  bot- 
tom a patriot  . . . he  is  never  perfectly  happy  unless 

he  is  thoroughly  miserable  and  able  to  make  everybody 
else  just  as  uncomfortable  as  he  is  himself.  . . . He 

is  either  determined  to  annoy  me  or  that  I shall  pat  him 
on  the  shoulder  and  coax  him  to  stay.  I don't  think  I 
ought  to  do  it.  I will  take  him  at  his  word."^ 

He  accepted  the  resignation  in  a note  that  was  almost 
curt:  “Of  all  I have  said  in  commendation  of  your  ability 
and  fidelity,  I have  nothing  to  unsay;  and  yet  you  and  I 
have  reached  a point  of  mutual  embarrassment  in  our  offi- 
cial relations  which  it  seems  can  not  be  overcome  or  longer 
sustained  consistently  with  the  public  service."^ 

The  selection  of  a successor  to  Chase  was  no  easy  mat- 
ter. The  Vindictives  were  the  leaders  of  the  moment.  What 
if  they  persuaded  the  Senate  not  to  confirm  Lincoln's  choice 
of  Secretary.  “I  never  saw  the  President,"  says  Carpenter, 
“under  so  much  excitement  as  on  the  day  following  this 
event."  On  the  night  of  July  first,  Lincoln  lay  awake  de- 
bating with  himself  the  merits  of  various  candidates.  At 
length,  he  selected  his  man  and  immediately  went  to  sleep. 

“The  next  morning  he  went  to  his  office  and  wrote  the 
nomination.  John  Hay,  the  assistant  private  secretary, 


350 


LINCOLN 


had  taken  it  from  the  President  on  his  way  to  the  Capitol, 
when  he  encountered  Senator  Fessenden  upon  the  thres- 
hold of  the  room.  As  chairman  of  the  Finance  Commit- 
tee, he  also  had  passed  an  anxious  night,  and  called  thus 
early  to  consult  with  the  President,  and  offer  some  sug- 
gestions. After  a few  moments’  conversation,  Mr.  Lincoln 
turned  to  him  with  a smile  and  said : ‘I  am  obliged  to  you, 
Fessenden,  but  the  fact  is,  I have  just  sent  your  own  name 
to  the  Senate  for  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  Hay  had 
just  received  the  nomination  from  my  hand  as  you  entered.’ 
Mr.  Fessenden  was  taken  completely  by  surprise,  and,  very 
much  agitated,  protested  his  inability  to  accept  the  posi- 
tion. The  state  of  his  health,  he  said,  if  no  other  con- 
sideration, made  it  impossible.  Mr.  Lincoln  would  not  ac- 
cept the  refusal  as  final.  He  very  justly  felt  that  with  Mr. 
Fessenden’s  experience  and  known  ability  at  the  head  of 
the  Finance  Committee,  his  acceptance  would  go  far  toward 
reestablishing  a feeling  of  security.  He  said  to  him,  very 
earnestly,  ‘Fessenden,  the  Lord  has  not  deserted  me  thus 
far,  and  He  is  not  going  to  now — you  must  accept!’ 

“They  separated,  the  Senator  in  great  anxiety  of  mind. 
Throughout  the  day,  Mr.  Lincoln  urged  almost  all  who 
called  to  go  and  see  Mr.  Fessenden,  and  press  upon  him 
the  duty  of  accepting.  Among  these,  was  a delegation  of 
New  York  bankers,  who,  in  the  name  of  the  banking  com- 
munity, expressed  their  satisfaction  at  the  nomination. 
This  was  especially  gratifying  to  the  President;  and  in  the 
strongest  manner,  he  entreated  them  to  ‘see  Mr.  Fessenden 
and  assure  him  of  their  support.’ 

In  justification  of  his  choice,  Lincoln  said  to  Hay: 
“Thinking  over  the  matter,  two  or  three  points  occurred 
to  me:  first  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  business; 


PRESIDENT  VERSUS  VINDICTIVES  351 


as  chairman  of  the  Senate  Committee  of  Finance,  he  knows 
as  much  of  this  special  subject  as  Mr.  Chase;  he  possesses  a 
national  reputation  and  the  confidence  of  the  country;  he 
is  a Radical  without  the  petulance  and  fretfulness  of  many 
radicals.”^  In  other  words,  though  he  was  not  at  heart 
one  of  them,  he  stood  for  the  moment  so  close  to  the  Vin- 
dictives  that  they  would  not  make  an  issue  on  his  confirma- 
tion. 

Lincoln  had  scored  a point  in  his  game  with  the  Vin- 
dictives.  But  the  point  was  of  little  value.  The  game’s 
real  concern  was  that  Reconstruction  Bill  which  was  now 
before  the  Senate  with  Wade  as  its  particular  sponsor. 
The  great  twin  brethren  of  the  Vindictives  were  Wade 
and  Chandler.  Both  were  furious  for  the  passage  of  the 
bill.  *‘Thc  Executive,”  said  Wade  angrily,  ‘‘ought  not  to 
be  allowed  to  handle  this  great  question  of  his  own 
liking.” 

On  the  last  day  of  the  session,  Lincoln  was  in  the  Presi- 
dent’s room  at  the  Capitol  signing  bills.  The  Reconstruc- 
tion Bill,  duly  passed  by  both  Houses,  was  brought  to  him. 
Several  Senators,  friends  of  the  bill  and  deeply  anxious,  had 
come  into  the  President’s  room  hoping  to  see  him  affix  his 
signature.  To  their  horror,  he  merely  glanced  at  the  bill 
and  laid  it  aside.  Chandler,  who  was  watching  him,  bluntly 
demanded  what  he  meant  to  do.  “This  bill,”  said  Lincoln, 
“has  been  placed  before  me  a few  minutes  before  Congress 
adjourns.  It  is  a matter  of  too  much  importance  to  be 
swallowed  in  that  way.” 

“If  it  is  vetoed,”  said  Chandler  whose  anger  was 
mounting,  “it  will  damage  us  fearfully  in  the  Northwest. 
The  important  point  is  that  one  prohibiting  slavery  in  the 
Reconstructed  States.” 


352 


LINCOLN 


'‘That  is  the  point,”  replied  the  President,  "on  which  I 
doubt  the  authority  of  Congress  to  act.” 

"It  is  no  more  than  you  have  done  yourself,”  retorted 
Chandler. 

Lincoln  turned  to  him  and  said  quietly  but  with  finality : 
"I  conceive  that  I may  in  an  emergency  do  things  on  mili- 
tary grounds  which  can  not  constitutionally  be  done  by 
Congress.” 

Chandler  angrily  left  the  room.  To  those  who  re- 
mained, Lincoln  added : "I  do  not  see  how  any  of  us  now 
can  deny  and  contradict  what  we  have  always  said,  that 
Congress  has  no  constitutional  power  over  slavery  in  the 
States.”® 

In  a way,  he  was  begging  the  question.  The  real  issue 
was  not  how  a State  should  be  constitutionally  recon- 
structed, but  which.  President  or  Congress,  had  a right  to 
assume  dictatorial  power.  At  last  the  true  Vindictive  issue, 
lured  out  of  their  arms  by  the  Democrats,  had  escaped  like 
a bird  from  a snare  and  was  fluttering  home.  Here  was 
the  old  issue  of  the  war  powers  in  a new  form  that  it  was 
safe  for  them  to  press.  And  the  President  had  squarely 
defied  them.  It  was  civil  war  inside  the  Union  party.  And 
for  both  sides.  President  and  Vindictives,  there  could  now 
be  nothing  but  rule  or  ruin. 

In  this  crisis  of  factional  politics,  Lincoln  was  unmoved, 
self-contained,  lofty,  deliberate.  "If  they  (the  Vindictives) 
choose  to  make  a point  on  this,  I do  not  doubt  that  they 
can  do  harm.  They  have  never  been  friendly  to  me.  At 
all  events,  I must  keep  some  consciousness  of  being  some- 
where near  right.  I must  keep  some  standard  of  principle 
fixed  within  myself.” 


VICTORY 


XXXI 


A MENACING  PAUSE 

Lincoln  had  now  reached  his  final  stature.  In  contact 
with  the  world  his  note  was  an  inscrutable  serenity.  The 
jokes  which  he  continued  to  tell  were  but  transitory  glim- 
merings. They  crossed  the  surface  of  his  mood  like  quick 
flickers  of  golden  light  on  a stormy  March  day, — witnesses 
that  the  sun  would  yet  prevail, — in  a forest  among  mountain 
shadows.  Or,  they  were  lightning  glimmers  in  a night 
sky;  they  revealed,  they  did  not  dispel,  the  dark  beyond. 
Over  all  his  close  associates  his  personal  ascendency  was 
complete.  Now  that  Chase  was  gone,  the  last  callous  spot 
in  the  Cabinet  had  been  amputated.  Even  Stanton,  once  so 
domineering,  so  difficult  to  manage,  had  become  as  clay  in 
his  hands. 

But  Lincoln  never  used  power  for  its  own  sake,  never 
abused  his  ascendency.  Always  he  got  his  end  if  he  could 
without  evoking  the  note  of  command.  He  would  go  to 
surprising  lengths  to  avoid  appearing  peremptory.  A typ- 
ical remark  was  his  smiling  reply  to  a Congressman  whom 
he  had  armed  with  a note  to  the  Secretary,  who  had  re- 
turned aghast,  the  Secretary  having  refused  to  comply  with 
the  President’s  request  and  having  decorated  his  refusal 
with  extraordinary  language. 

'‘Did  Stanton  say  I was  a damned  fool?”  asked  Lin- 
coln. "Then  I dare  say  I must  be  one,  for  Stanton  is  gen- 
erally right  and  he  always  says  what  he  means.” 

355 


356 


LINCOLN 


Nevertheless,  the  time  had  come  when  Lincoln  had  only 
to  say  the  word  and  Stanton,  no  matter  how  fierce  his 
temper  might  be,  would  acknowledge  his  master.  General 
Fry,  the  Provost  Marshal,  witnessed  a scene  between  them 
which  is  a curious  commentary  on  the  transformation  of 
the  Stanton  of  1862.  Lincoln  had  issued  an  order  relative 
to  the  disposition  of  certain  recruits.  Stanton  protested 
that  it  was  unwarranted,  that  he  would  not  put  it  into 
effect.  The  Provost  Marshal  was  called  in  and  asked  to 
state  at  length  all  the  facts  involved.  When  he  had  finished 
Stanton  broke  out  excitedly — 

‘Now,  Mr.  President,  those  are  the  facts  and  you 
must  see  that  your  order  can  not  be  executed.' 

“Lincoln  sat  upon  a sofa  with  his  legs  crossed  and  did 
not  say  a word  until  the  Secretary’s  last  remark.  Then 
he  said  in  a somewhat  positive  tone,  ‘Mr.  Secretary,  I 
reckon  you’ll  have  to  execute  the  order.’ 

“Stanton  replied  with  asperity,  ‘Mr.  President,  I can 
not  do  it.  The  order  is  an  improper  one,  and  I can  not 
execute  it’ 

“Lincoln  fixed  his  eye  upon  Stanton,  and  in  a firm  voice 
with  an  accent  that  clearly  showed  his  determination,  he 
said,  'Mr.  Secretary,  it  will  have  to  he  done.' 

At  this  point,  General  Fry  discreetly  left  the  room.  A 
few  moments  later,  he  received  instructions  from  Stanton  to 
execute  the  President’s  order. 

In  a public  matter  in  the  June  of  1864  Lincoln  gave  a 
demonstration  of  his  original  way  of  doing  things.  It  dis- 
played his  final  serenity  in  such  unexpected  fashion  that  no 
routine  politician,  no  dealer  in  the  catchwords  of  statecraft, 
could  understand  it.  Since  that  grim  joke,  the  deportation 
of  Vallandigham,  the  Copperhead  leader  had  not  had  a 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


357 


happy  time.  The  Confederacy  did  not  want  him.  He  had 
made  his  way  to  Canada.  Thence,  in  the  spring  of  1864 
he  served  notice  on  his  country  that  he  would  perform  a 
dramatic  part,  play  the  role  of  a willing  martyr — in  a word, 
come  home  and  defy  the  government  to  do  its  worst.  He 
came.  But  Lincoln  did  nothing.  The  American  sense  of 
1 humor  did  the  rest.  If  Vallandigham  had  not  advertised  a 
! theatrical  exploit,  ignoring  him  might  have  been  dangerous. 
But  Lincoln  knew  his  people.  When  the  show  did  not 
come  off,  Vallandigham  was  transformed  in  an  instant 
from  a martyr  to  an  anticlimax.  Though  he  went  busily 
to  work,  though  he  lived  to  attend  the  Democratic  National 
Convention  and  to  write  the  resolution  that  was  the  heart 
of  its  platform,  his  tale  was  told. 

Turning  from  Vallandigham,  partly  in  amusement, 
partly  in  contempt,  Lincoln  grappled  with  the  problem  of 
reinforcing  the  army.  Since  the  spring  of  1863  the 
wastage  of  the  army  had  been  replaced  by  conscription. 
But  the  system  had  not  worked  well.  It  contained  a fatal 
provision.  A drafted  man  might  escape  service  by  paying 
three  hundred  dollars.  Both  the  Secretary  of  War  and 
the  Provost  Marshal  had  urged  the  abolition  of  this  detail. 
Lincoln  had  communicated  their  arguments  to  Congress 
with  his  approval  and  a new  law  had  been  drawn  up  ac- 
cordingly. Nevertheless,  late  in  June,  the  House  amended 
it  by  restoring  the  privilege  of  commuting  service  for 
money. ^ Lincoln  bestirred  himself.  The  next  day  he 
called  together  the  Republican  members  of  the  House. 
“With  a sad,  mysterious  light  in  his  melancholy  eyes,  as  if 
they  were  familiar  with  things  hidden  from  mortals”  he 
urged  the  Congressmen  to  reconsider  their  action.  The 
time  of  three  hundred  eighty  thousand  soldiers  would  ex- 


358 


LINCOLN 


pire  in  October.  He  must  have  half  a million  to  take  their' 
places.  A Congressman  objected  that  elections  were  ap- 
proaching; that  the  rigorous  law  he  proposed  would  be  in- 
tensely unpopular;  that  it  might  mean  the  defeat,  at  the 
polls,  of  many  Republican  Representatives;  it  might  even 
mean  the  President’s  defeat.  He  replied  that  he  had 
thought  of  all  that. 

“My  election  is  not  necessary;  I must  put  down  the 
rebellion;  I must  have  five  hundred  thousand  more  men.”^ 

He  raised  the  timid  politicians  to  his  own  level,  inspired 
them  with  new  courage.  Two  days  later  a struggle  began 
in  the  House  for  carrying  out  Lincoln’s  purpose.  On  the 
last  day  of  the  session  along  with  the  offensive  Reconstruc- 
tion Bill,  he  received  the  new  Enrollment  Act  which  pro- 
vided that  “no  payment  of  money  shall  be  accepted  or  re- 
ceived by  the  Government  as  commutation  to  release  any 
enrolled  or  drafted  man  from  personal  obligation  to  per- 
form military  service.” 

Against  this  inflexible  determination  to  fight  to  a finish, 
this  indifference  to  the  political  consequences  of  his  de- 
termination, Lincoln  beheld  arising  like  a portentous 
specter,  a fury  of  pacifism.  It  found  expression  in  Greeley. 
Always  the  swift  victim  of  his  own  affrighted  hope,  Greeley 
had  persuaded  himself  that  both  North  and  South  had  lost 
heart  for  the  war;  that  there  was  needed  only  a moving 
appeal,  and  they  would  throw  down  their  arms  and  the 
millennium  would  come.  Furthermore,  on  the  flimsiest 
sort  of  evidence,  he  had  fallen  into  a trap  designed  to  place 
the  Northern  government  in  the  attitude  of  suing  for  peace. 
He  wrote  to  Lincoln  demanding  that  he  send  an  agent  to 
confer  with  certain  Confederate  officials  who  were  reported 
to  be  then  in  Canada;  he  also  suggested  terms  of  peace.^ 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


359 


Greeley’s  terms  were  entirely  acceptable  to  Lincoln;  but  he 
had  no  faith  in  the  Canadian  mare’s  nest.  However,  he 
decided  to  give  Greeley  the  utmost  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and 
also  to  teach  him  a lesson.  He  commissioned  Greeley  him- 
self to  proceed  to  Canada,  there  to  discover  ‘‘if  there  is 
or  is  not  anything  in  the  affair.”  He  wrote  to  him,  “I  not 
only  intend  a sincere  effort  for  peace,  but  I intend  that  you 
shall  be  a personal  witness  that  it  is  made.”^ 

Greeley,  who  did  not  want  to  have  any  responsibility 
for  anything  that  might  ensue,  whose  joy  was  to  storm  and 
to  find  fault,  accepted  the  duty  he  could  not  well  refuse, 
and  set  out  in  a bad  humor. 

Meanwhile  two  other  then  had  conceived  an  undertak- 
ing somewhat  analogous  but  in  a temper  widely  different. 
These  were  Colonel  Jaquess,  a clergyman  turned  soldier,  a 
man  of  high  simplicity  of  character,  and  J.  R.  Gilmore,  a 
writer,  known  by  the  pen  name  of  Edmund  Kirke.  Jaquess 
had  told  Gilmore  of  information  he  had  received  from 
friends  in  the  Confederacy;  he  was  convinced  that  nothing 
would  induce  the  Confederate  government  to  consider  any 
terms  of  peace  that  embraced  reunion,  whether  with  or 
without  emancipation.  “It  at  once  occurred  to  me,”  says 
Gilmore,  “that  if  this  declaration  could  be  got  in  such  a 
manner  that  it  could  be  given  to  the  public,  it  would,  if 
scattered  broadcast  over  the  North,  destroy  the  peace-party 
and  reelect  Mr.  Lincoln.”  Gilmore  went  to  Washington 
and  obtained  an  interview  with  the  President.  He  assured 
him — and  he  was  a newspaper  correspondent  whose  experi- 
ence was  worth  considering — that  the  new  pacifism,  the 
incipient  “peace  party,”  was  schooling  the  country  in  the 
belief  that  an  offer  of  liberal  terms  would  be  followed  by  a 
Southern  surrender.  The  masses  wanted  peace  on  any 


360 


LINCOLN 


terms  that  would  preserve  the  Union;  and  the  Democrats 
were  going  to  tell  them  in  the  next  election  that  Lincoln 
could  save  the  Union  by  negotiation,  if  he  would.  Unless 
the  popular  mind  were  disabused  of  this  fictitious  hope,  the 
Democrats  would  prevail  and  the  Union  would  collapse. 
But  if  an  offer  to  negotiate  should  be  made,  and  if  ‘‘Davis 
should  refuse  to  negotiate — as  he  probably  would,  except 
on  the  basis  of  Southern  independence — that  fact  alone 
would  reunite  the  North,  reelect  Lincoln,  and  thus  save  the 
Union/’" 

“Then,”  said  Lincoln,  “you  would  fight  the  devil  with 
fire.  You  would  get  that  declaration  from  Davis  and  use 
it  against  him.” 

Gilmore  defended  himself  by  proposing  to  offer  ex- 
tremely liberal  terms.  There  was  a pause  in  the  conversa- 
tion. Lincoln  who  was  seated  at  his  desk  “leaned  slightly 
forward  looking  directly  into  (Gilmore’s)  eyes,  but  with 
an  absent,  far-away  gaze  as  if  unconscious  of  (his)  pres- 
ence.” Suddenly,  relapsing  into  his  usual  badinage,  he 
said,  “God  selects  His  own  instruments  and  some  times  they 
are  queer  ones:  for  instance,  He  chose  me  to  see  the  ship 
of  state  through  a great  crisis.”^  He  went  on  to  say  that 
Gilmore  and  Jaquess  might  be  the  very  men  to  serve  a great 
purpose  at  this  moment.  Gilmore  knew  the  world;  and 
anybody  could  see  at  a glance  that  Jaquess  never  told  any- 
thing that  wasn’t  true.  If  they  would  go  to  Richmond  on 
their  own  responsibility,  make  it  plain  to  President  Davis 
that  they  were  not  official  agents,  even  taking  the  chance  of 
arrest  and  imprisonment,  they  might  go.  This  condition  was 
accepted.  Lincoln  went  on  to  say  that  no  advantage  should 
be  taken  of  Mr.  Davis;  that  nothing  should  be  proposed 
which  if  accepted  would  not  be  made  good.  After  con- 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


361 


siderable  further  discussion  he  drew  up  a memorandum  of 
the  terms  upon  which  he  would  consent  to  peace.  There 
were  seven  items  : 

1.  The  immediate  dissolution  of  the  armies. 

2.  The  abolition  of  slavery. 

3.  'A'  general  amnesty. 

4.  The  Seceded  States  to  resume  their  functions  as 
states  in  the  Union  as  if  no  secession  had  taken  place. 

5.  Four  hundred  million  dollars  to  be  appropriated  by 
Congress  as  compensation  for  loss  of  slave  property;  no 
slaveholder,  however,  to  receive  more  than  one-half  the 
former  value  of  his  slaves. 

6.  A national  convention  to  be  called  for  .readjustment 
of  all  other  difficulties. 

7.  It  to  be  understood  that  the  purpose  of  negotiation 
was  a full  restoration  of  the  Union  as  of  old.^ 

Gilmore  and  Jaquess  might  say  to  Davis  that  they  had 
private  but  sure  knowledge  that  the  President  of  the  United 
States  would  agree  to  peace  on  these  terms.  Thus  pro- 
vided, they  set  forth. 

Lincoln’s  thoughts  were  speedily  claimed  by  an  event 
which  had  no  suggestion  of  peace.  At  no  time  since  Jack- 
son  threw  the  government  into  a panic  in  the  spring  of 
1862,  had  Washington  been  in  danger  of  capture.  Now, 
briefly,  it  appeared  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  General  Early.  In 
the  last  act  of  a daring  raid  above  the  Potomac,  he  came 
sweeping  down  on  Washington  from  the  North.  As  Grant 
was  now  the  active  commander-in-chief,  responsible  for  all 
the  Northern  armies,  Lincoln  with  a fatalistic  calm  made 
no  move  to  take  the  capital  out  of  his  hands.  When  Early 
was  known  to  be  headed  toward  Washington,  Lincoln 
drove  out  as  usual  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Soldiers’  Home, 


362 


LINCOLN 


beyond  the  fortifications.  Stanton,  in  whom  there  was  a 
reminiscence  at  least  of  the  hysterical  Secretary  of  1862, 
sent  after  him  post  haste  and  insisted  on  his  returning. 
The  next  day,  the  eleventh  of  July,  1864,  Washington 
was  invested  by  the  Confederate  forces.  There  was  sharp 
firing  in  front  of  several  forts.  Lincoln — and  for  that 
matter,  Mrs.  Lincoln  also — made  a tour  of  the  defenses. 
While  Fort  Stevens  was  under  fire,  he  stood  on  the  parapet, 
> ^‘apparently  unconscious  of  danger,  watching  with  that 
grave  and  passive  countenance  the  progress  of  the  fight, 
amid  the  whizzing  bullets  of  the  sharp  shooters,  until  an 
officer  fell  mortally  wounded  within  three  feet  of  him,  and 
General  Wright  peremptorily  represented  to  him  the  need- 
less risk  he  was  running.”  Hay  recorded  in  his  diary  “the 
President  in  good  feather  this  evening  . . . not  con- 
cerned about  Washington’s  safety  . . . only  thought, 

‘can  we  bag  or  destroy  the  force  in  our  front.’  ” He  was 
much  disappointed  when  Early  eluded  the  forces  which 
Grant  hurried  to  the  Capitol.  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  outspoken 
to  the  same  effect.  The  doughty  little  lady  had  also  been 
under  fire,  her  temper  being  every  whit  as  bold  as  her  hus- 
band’s. When  Stanton  with  a monumental  playfulness 
proposed  to  have  her  portrait  painted  in  a commanding 
attitude  on  the  parapet  of  Fort  vStevens,  she  gave  him  the 
freedom  of  her  tongue,  because  of  the  inadequacy  of  his 
department.^ 

This  incident  had  its  aftermath.  A country-place  be- 
longing to  the  Postmaster  General  had  been  laid  waste.  Its 
owner  thought  that  the  responsibility  for  permitting  Early 
to  come  so  near  to  Washington  fell  chiefly  on  General  Hal- 
leck.  He  made  some  sharp  criticisms  which  became  public. 
The  General  flew  into  a rage  and  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


363 


War:  “The  Postmaster  General  ought  to  be  dismissed  by 
the  President  from  the  Cabinet.”  Stanton  handed  his  letter 
to  the  President,  from  whom  the  next  day  the  General  re- 
ceived this  note:  “Whether  the  remarks  were  made  I do 
not  know,  nor  do  I suppose  such  knowledge  is  necessary  to 
a correct  response.  If  they  were  made,  I do  not  approve 
them;  and  yet,  under  the  circumstances,  I would  not  dis- 
miss a member  of  the  Cabinet  therefor.  I do  not  consider 
what  may  have  been  hastily  said  in  a moment  of  vexation 
at  so  severe  a loss  is  sufficient  ground  for  so  grave  a step. 
Besides  this,  truth  is  generally  the  best  vindication  against 
slander.  I propose  continuing  to  be  myself  the  judge  as  to 
when  a member  of  the  Cabinet  shall  be  dismissed.”  Lin- 
coln Spoke  of  the  affair  at  his  next  conference  with  his 
Ministers.  “I  must,  myself,  be  the  judge,”  said  he,  “how 
long  to  retain  in  and  when  to  remove  any  of  you  from  his 
position.  It  would  greatly  pain  me  to  discover  any  of  you 
endeavoring  to  procure  another’s  removal,  or  in  any  way 
to  prejudice  him  before  the  public.  Such  an  endeavor 
would  be  a wrong  to  me,  and  much  worse,  a wrong  to  the 
country.  My  wish  is  that  on  this  subject  no  remark  be 
made  nor  question  asked  by  any  of  you,  here  or  elsewhere, 
now  or  hereafter.” 

Not  yet  had  anything  resulted  either  from  the  Canadian 
mission  of  Greeley,  or  from  the  Richmond  adventure  of 
Gilmore  and  Jaquess.  There  was  a singular  ominous  pause 
in  events.  Lincoln  could  not  be  blind  to  the  storm  signals 
that  had  attended  the  close  of  Congress.  What  were  the 
Vindictives  about?  As  yet  they  had  made  no  sign.  But 
it  was  incredible  that  they  could  pass  over  his  defiance  with- 
out a return  blow.  When  vrould  it  come?  What  would 
it  be? 


3^4 


LINCOLN 


He  spent  his  nights  at  the  Soldiers’  Home.  As  a rule, 
his  family  were  with  him.  Sometimes,  however,  Mrs.  Lin- 
coln and  his  sons  would  be  absent  and  his  only  companion 
was  one  of  the  ardent  young  secretaries.  Then  he  would 
indulge  in  reading  Shakespeare  aloud,  it  might  be  with 
such  forgetfulness  of  time  that  only  the  nodding  of  the  tired 
young  head  recalled  him  to  himself  and  brought  the  read- 
ing to  an  end.  A visitor  has  left  this  charming  picture  of 
Lincoln  at  the  Soldiers’  Home  in  the  sad  sweetness  of  a 
summer  night: 

^‘The  Soldiers’  Home  is  a few  miles  out  of  Washington 
on  the  Maryland  side.  It  is  situated  on  a beautiful  wooded 
hill,  which  you  ascend  by  a winding  path,  shaded  on  both 
sides  by  wide-spread  branches,  forming  a green  arcade 
above  you.  When  you  reach  the  top  you  stand  between 
two  mansions,  large,  handsome  and  substantial,  but  with 
nothing  about  them  to  indicate  the  character  of  either. 
That  on  the  left  is  the  Presidential  country  house;  that 
directly  before  you,  is  the  'Rest,’  for  soldiers  who  are  too 
old  for  further  service  ...  in  the  graveyard  near  at 
hand  there  are  numberless  graves — some  without  a spear  of 
grass  to  hide  their  newness — that  hold  the  bodies  of  volun- 
teers. 

"While  we  stood  in  the  soft  evening  air,  watching  the 
faint  trembling  of  the  long  tendrils  of  waving  willow,  and 
feeling  the  dewy  coolness  that  was  flung  out  by  the  old 
oaks  above  us,  Mr.  Lincoln  joined  us,  and  stood  silent,  too, 
taking  in  the  scene. 

" 'How  sleep  the  brave  who  sink  to  rest. 

By  all  their  country’s  wishes  blest,’ — 


he  said,  softly. 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


365 


‘^Around  the  ‘Home’  grows  every  variety  of  tree,  par- 
ticularly of  the  evergreen  class.  Their  branches  brushed 
into  the  carriage  as  we  passed  along,  and  left  us  with  that 
pleasant  woody  smell  belonging  to  leaves.  One  of  the 
ladies,  catching  a bit  of  green  from  one  of  these  intruding 
branches,  said  it  was  cedar,  and  another  thought  it  spruce. 

“ ‘Let  me  discourse  on  a theme  I understand,’  said  the 
President.  T know  all  about  trees  in  right  of  being  a 
backwoodsman.  I’ll  show  you  the  difference  between 
spruce,  pine  and  cedar,  and  this  shred  of  green,  which  is 
neither  one  nor  the  other,  but  a kind  of  illegitimate  cypress.’ 
He  then  proceeded  to  gather  specimens  of  each,  and  ex- 
plain the  distinctive  formation  of  foliage  belonging  to 
each.”ii 

Those  summer  nights  of  July,  1864,  had  many  secrets 
which  the  tired  President  musing  in  the  shadows  of  the 
giant  trees  or  finding  solace  with  the  greatest  of  earthly 
minds  would  have  given  much  to  know.  How  were  Gil- 
more and  Jaquess  faring?  What  was  really  afoot  in  Can- 
ada? And  that  unnatural  silence  of  the  Vindictives,  what 
did  that  mean  ? And  the  two  great  armies.  Grant’s  in  Vir- 
ginia, Sherman’s  in  Georgia,  was  there  never  to  be  stirring 
news  of  either  of  these?  The  hush  of  the  moment,  the 
atmosphere  of  suspense  that  seemed  to  envelop  him,  it  was 
just  what  had  always  for  his  imagination  had  such  strange 
charm  in  the  stories  of  fated  men.  He  turned  again  to 
Macbeth,  or  to  Richard  II,  or  to  Hamlet,  Shakespeare, 
too,  understood  these  mysterious  pauses — who  better! 

The  sense  of  the  impending  was  strengthened  by  the 
alarms  of  some  of  his  best  friends.  They  besought  him 
to  abandon  his  avowed  purpose  to  call  for  a draft  of  half  a 
million  under  the  new  Enrollment  Act.  Many  voices  joined 


366 


LINCOLN 


the  one  chorus:  the  country  is  on  the  verge  of  despair; 
you  will  wreck  the  cause  by  demanding  another  colossal 
sacrifice.  But  he  would  not  listen.  When,  in  desperation, 
they  struck  precisely  the  wrong  note,  and  hinted  at  the  ruin 
of  his  political  prospects,  he  had  his  calm  reply : “It  mat- 
ters not  what  becomes  of  me.  We  must  have  men.  If  I 
go  down,  I intend  to  go  like  the  Cumberland^  with  my 
colors  flying.”^^ 

Thus  the  days  passed  until  the  eighteenth  of  July. 
Meanwhile  the  irresponsible  Greeley  had  made  a sad  mess 
of  his  Canadian  adventure.  Though  Lincoln  had  given 
him  definite  instructions,  requiring  him  to  negotiate  only 
with  agents  who  coul(i  produce  written  authority  from 
Davis,  and  who  would  treat  on  the  basis  of  restoration  of 
the  Union  and  abandonment  of  slavery,  Greeley  ignored 
both  these  unconditional  requirements.^^  He  had  found 
the  Confederate  agents  at  Niagara.  They  had  no  creden- 
tials. Nevertheless,  he  invited  them  to  come  to  Washing- 
ton and  open  negotiations.  Of  the  President’s  two  condi- 
. tions,  he  said  not  a word.  This  was  just  what  the  agents 
wanted.  It  could  easily  be  twisted  into  the  semblance 
of  an  attempt  by  Lincoln  to  sue  for  peace.  They  accepted 
the  invitation.  Greeley  telegraphed  to  Lincoln  reporting 
what  he  had  done.  Of  course,  it  was  plain  that  he  had 
misrepresented  Lincoln ; that  he  had  far  exceeded  his 
authority;  and  that  his  perverse  unfaithfulness  must  be 
repudiated.  On  July  eighteenth.  Hay  set  out  for  Niagara 
with  this  paper  in  Lincoln’s  handwriting 

“To  whom  it  may  concern:  Any  proposition  which 
embraces  the  restoration  of  peace,  the  integrity  of  the  whole 
Union,  and  the  abandonment  of  slavery,  and  which  comes 
by  and  with  an  authority  that  can  control  the  armies  now 


A MENACING  PAUSE 


367 


at  war  against  the  United  States,  will  be  received  and  con- 
sidered by  the  executive  government  of  the  United  States, 
and  will  be  met  by  liberal  terms  on  other  substantial  and 
collateral  points  and  the  bearer  or  bearers  thereof  shall  have 
safe  conduct  both  ways.  Abraham  Lincoln.” 

This  was  the  end  of  the  negotiation.  The  agents  could 
not  accept  these  terms.  Immediately,  they  published  a ver- 
sion of  what  had  happened : they  had  been  invited  to  come 
to  Washington;  subsequently,  conditions  had  been  imposed 
which  made  it  impossible  for  them  to  accept.  Was  not  the 
conclusion  plain?  The  Washington  government  was  try- 
ing to  open  negotiations  but  it  was  also  in  the  fear  of  its 
own  supporters  playing  craftily  a double  game.  These 
astute  diplomats  saw  that  there  was  a psychological  crisis 
in  the  North.  By  adding  to  the  confusion  of  the  hour  they 
had  well  served  their  cause.  Greeley’s  fiasco  was  sus- 
ceptible of  a double  interpretation.  To  the  pacifists  it 
meant  that  the  government,  whatever  may  have  been  in- 
tended at  the  start,  had  ended  by  setting  imposs^le  condi- 
tions of  peace.  To  the  supporters  of  the  war,  it  meant  that 
whatever  were  the  last  thoughts  of  the  government,  it  had 
for  a time  contemplated  peace  without  any  conditions  at  all. 

Lincoln  was  severely  condemned,  Greeley  was  ridi- 
culed, by  both  groups  of  interpreters.  Why  did  not  Greeley 
come  out  bravely  and  tell  the  truth  ? Why  did  he  not  con- 
fess that  he  had  suppressed  Lincoln’s  first  set  of  instruc- 
tions; that  it  was  he,  on  his  own  responsibility,  who  had 
led  the  Confederate  agents  astray ; that  he,  not  Lincoln,  was 
solely  to  blame  for  the  false  impression  that  was  now  being 
used  so  adroitly  to  injure  the  President?  Lincoln  proposed 
to  publish  their  correspondence,  but  made  a condition  that 
was  characteristic.  Greeley’s  letters  rang  with  cries  of 


368 


LINCOLN 


despair.  He  was  by  far  the  most  influential  Northern 
editor.  Lincoln  asked  him  to  strike  out  these  hopeless 
passages.  Greeley  refused.  The  correspondence  must  be 
published  entire  or  not  at  all.  Lincoln  suppressed  it.  He 
let  the  blame  of  himself  go  on;  and  he  said  nothing  in 
extenuation.^^ 

He  took  some  consolation  in  a “card”  that  appeared  in 
the  Boston  Transcript , July  22.  It  gave  a brief  account 
of  the  adventure  of  Gilmore  and  Jaquess,  and  stated  the 
answer  given  to  them  by  the  President  of  the  Confederacy. 
That  answer,  as  restated  by  the  Confederate  Secretary  of 
State,  was : “he  had  no  authority  to  receive  proposals  for 
negotiations  except  by  virtue  of  his  office  as  President  of 
an  independent  Confederacy  and  on  this  basis  alone  must 
proposals  be  made  to  him.”^® 

There  was  another  circumstance  that  may  well  have 
been  Lincoln’s  consolation  in  this  tangle  of  cross-purposes. 
Only  boldness  could  extricate  him  from  the  mesh  of  his 
difficulties.  The  mesh  was  destined  to  grow  more  and 
more  of  a snare ; his  boldness  was  to  grow  with  his  danger. 
He  struck  the  note  that  was  to  rule  his  conduct  thereafter, 
when,  on  the  day  he  sent  the  final  instructions  to  Greeley, 
in  defiance  of  his  timid  advisers,  he  issued  a proclamation 
calling  for  a new  draft  of  half  a million  men.^^ 


XXXII 


THE  AUGUST  CONSPIRACY 

Though  the  Vindictives  kept  a stealthy  silence  during 
July,  they  were  sharpening  their  claws  and  preparing  for  a 
tiger  spring  whenever  the  psychological  moment  should 
arrive.  Those  two  who  had  had  charge  of  the  Reconstruc- 
tion Bill  prepared  a paper,  in  some  ways  the  most  singular 
paper  of  the  war  period,  which  has  established  itself  in  our 
history  as  the  Wade-Davis  Manifesto.  This  was  to  be  the 
deadly  shot  that  should  unmask  the  Vindictive  batteries, 
bring  their  war  upon  the  President  out  of  the  shadows  into 
the  open. 

Greeley's  fiasco  and  Greeley’s  mortification  both  played 
into  their  hands.  The  fiasco  contributed  to  depress  still 
more  the  despairing  North.  By  this  time,  there  was  gen- 
eral appreciation  of  the  immensity  of  Grant’s  failure,  not 
only  at  Cold  Harbor,  but  in  the  subsequent  slaughter  of 
the  futile  assault  upon  Petersburg.  We  have  the  word  of 
a member  of  the  Committee  that  the  despair  over  Grant 
translated  itself  into  blame  of  the  Administration.^  The 
Draft  Proclamation;  the  swiftly  traveling  report  that  the 
government  had  wilfully  brought  the  peace  negotiations  to 
a stand-still;  the  continued  cry  that  the  war  was  hopeless; 
all  these  produced,  about  the  first  of  August,  an  emotional 
crisis — just  the  sort  of  occasion  for  which  Lincoln’s 
enemies  were  waiting. 


369 


370 


LINCOLN 


Then,  too,  there  was  Greeley’s  mortification.  The  Ad- 
ministration papers  made  him  a target  for  sarcasm.  The 
Times  set  the  pace  with  scornful  demands  for  “No'  more 
back  door  diplomacy.”^  Greeley  answered  in  a rage.  He 
permitted  himself  to  imply  that  the  President  originated 
the  Niagara  negotiation  and  that  Greeley  ‘‘reluctantly”  be- 
came a party  to  it.  That  “reluctantly”  was  the  truth,  in  a 
sense,  but  how  falsely  true!  Wade  and  Davis  had  him 
where  they  wanted  him.  On  the  fifth  of  August,  The 
Tribune  printed  their  manifesto.  It  was  an  appeal  to  “the 
supporters  of  the  Administration  ...  to  check  the  | 
encroachment  of  the  Executive  on  the  authority  of  Con- 
gress, and  to  require  it  to  confine  itself  to  its  proper 
sphere.”  It  insinuated  the  basest  motives  for  the  Presi- 
dent’s interest  in  reconstruction,  and  for  rejecting  their  own 
bill.  “The  President  by  preventing  this  bill  from  becom- 
ing a law,  holds  the  electoral  votes  of  the  Rebel  States  at  the 
dictation  of  his  personal  ambition.  ...  If  electors 
for  President  be  allowed  to  be  chosen  in  either  of  those 
States,  a sinister  light  will  be  cast  on  the  motives  which 
induced  the  President  to  ‘hold  for  naught’  the  will  of  Con- 
gress rather  than  his  government  in  Louisiana  and 
Arkansas.” 

After  a long  discussion  of  his  whole  course  with  regard 
to  reconstruction,  having  heaped  abuse  upon  him  with 
shocking  liberality,  the  Manifesto  concluded : 

“Such  are  the  fruits  of  this  rash  and  fatal  act  of  the 
President — a blow  at  the  friends  of  the  Administration,  at 
the  rights  of  humanity,  and  at  the  principles  of  Republican 
government.  The  President  has  greatly  presumed  on  the 
forbearance  which  the  supporters  of  his  Administration 
have  so  long  practised  in  view  of  the  arduous  conflict  in 


THE  AUGUST  CONSPIRACY 


371 


which  we  are  engaged,  and  the  reckless  ferocity  of  our 
political  opponents.  But  he  must  understand  that  our  sup- 
port is  of  a ‘cause’  and  not  of  a man;  that  the  authority 
of  Congress  is  paramount  and  must  be  respected;  that  the 
whole  body  of  the  Union  men  in  Congress  will  not  submit 
to  be  impeached  by  him  of  rash  and  unconstitutional  legis- 
lation; and  if  he  wishes  our  support  he  must  confine  him- 
self to  his  executive  duties — to  obey  and  execute,  not  make 
the  laws — to  suppress  by  arms,  armed  rebellion,  and  leave 
political  reorganization  to  Congress.  If  the  supporters  of 
the  government  fail  to  insist  on  this  they  become  respon- 
sible for  the  usurpations  they  fail  to  rebuke  and  are  justly 
liable  to  the  indignation  of  the  people  whose  rights  and 
security,  committed  to  their  keeping,  they  sacrifice.  Let 
them  consider  the  remedy  of  these  usurpations,  and,  hav- 
ing found  it,  fearlessly  execute  it.” 

To  these  incredible  charges,  Lincoln  made  no  reply. 
He  knew,  what  some  statesmen  never  appear  to  know,  the 
times  when  one  should  risk  all  upon  that  French  proverb, 
“who  excuses,  accuses.”  However,  he  made  his  futile  at- 
tem.pt  to  bring  Greeley  to  reason,  to  induce  him  to  tell  the 
truth  about  Niagara  without  confessing  to  the  country  the 
full  measure  of  the  despair  that  had  inspired  his  course. 
When  Greeley  refused  to  do  so,  Lincoln  turned  to  other 
matters,  to  preparation  for  the  draft,  and  grimly  left  the 
politicians  to  do  their  worst.  They  went  about  it  with 
zest.  Their  reliance  was  chiefly  their  power  to  infect  the 
type  of  party  man  who  is  easily  swept  from  his  moorings 
by  the  cry  that  the  party  is  in  danger,  that  sacrifices  must 
be  made  to  preserve  the  party  unity,  that  otherwise  the 
party  v/ill  go  to  pieces.  By  the  middle  of  August,  six 
weeks  after  Lincoln’s  defiance  of  them  on  the  fourth  of 


372 


LINCOLN 


July,  they  were  in  high  feather,  convinced  that  most  things 
were  coming  their  way.  American  politicians  have  not  al- 
ways shown  an  ability  to  read  clearly  the  American  people. 
Whether  the  politicians  were  in  error  on  August  14,  1864, 
and  again  on  August  twenty-third,  two  dates  that  were 
turning  points,  is  a matter  of  debate  to  this  day.  As  to 
August  fourteenth,  they  have  this,  at  least,  in  their  defense. 
The  country  had  no  political  observer  more  keen  than  the 
Scotch  free  lance  who  edited  The  Nezv  York  Herald.  It 
was  Bennett’s  editorial  view  that  Lincoln  would  do  well 
to  make  a virtue  of  necessity  and  withdraw  his  candidacy 
because  ‘‘the  dissatisfaction  which  had  long  been  felt  by 
the  great  body  of  American  citizens  has  spread  even  to  his 
own  supporters.”^  Confident  that  a great  reaction  against 
Lincoln  was  sweeping  the  country,  that  the  Manifesto  had 
been  launched  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  a meeting  of  con- 
spirators was  held  in  New  York,  at  the  house  of  David 
Dudley  Field,  August  fourteenth.  Though  Wade  was  now 
at  his  home  in  Ohio,  Davis  was  present.  So  was  Greeley. 
It  was  decided  to  ask  Lincoln  to  withdraw.  Four  days 
afterward,  a “call”  was  drawn  up  and  sent  out  confiden- 
tially near  and  far  to  be  signed  by  prominent  politicians. 
The  “call”  was  craftily  worded.  It  summoned  a new 
Union  Convention  to  meet  in  Cincinnati,  September 
twenty-eighth,  for  the  purpose  either  of  rousing  the  party 
to  whole-hearted  support  of  Lincoln,  or  of  uniting  all  fac- 
tions on  some  new  candidate.  Greeley  who.  could  not  at- 
tend the  committee  which  drew  up  the  “call”  wrote  that 
“Lincoln  is  already  beaten.”^ 

Meanwhile,  the  infection  of  dismay  had  spread  fast 
among  the  Lincoln  managers.  Even  before  the  meeting  of 
the  conspirators  on  the  fourteenth.  Weed  told  the  Presi- 


THE  AUGUST  CONSPIRACY 


373 


dent  that  he  could  not  be  reelected.®  One  of  his  bravest 
supporters,  Washburne,  came  to  the  dismal  conclusion  that 
“were  an  election  to  be  held  now  in  Illinois,  we  should  be 
beaten.”  Cameron,  who  had  returned  from  Russia  and 
was  working  hard  for  Lincoln  in  Pennsylvania,  was  equally 
discouraging.  So  was  Governor  Morton  in  Indiana. 
From  all  his  “stanchest  friends,”  wrote  his  chief  manager 
to  Lincoln,  “there  was  but  one  report.  The  tide  is  setting 
strongly  against  us.”® 

Lincoln’s  managers  believed  that  the  great  host  of  free 
voters  who  are  the  balance  of  power  in  American  politics, 
were  going  in  a drove  toward  the  camp  of  the  Democrats. 
It  was  the  business  of  the  managers  to  determine  which 
one,  or  which  ones,  among  the  voices  of  discontent,  repre- 
sented truly  this  controlling  body  of  voters.  They  thought 
they  knew.  Two  cries,  at  least,  that  rang  loud  out  of  the 
Babel  of  the  hour,  should  be  heeded.  One  of  these  harked 
back  to  Niagara.  In  the  anxious  ears  of  the  managers  it 
dinned  this  charge : “the  Administration  prevented  negotia- 
tions for  peace  by  tying  together  two  demands,  the  Union 
must  be  restored  and  slavery  must  be  abolished ; if  Lincoln 
had  left  out  slavery,  he  could  have  had  peace  in  a restored 
Union.”  It  was  ridiculous,  as  every  one  who  had  not  gone 
off  his  head  knew.  But  so  many  had  gone  off  their  heads. 
And  some  of  Lincoln’s  friends  were  meeting  this  cry  in  a 
way  that  was  raising  up  other  enemies  of  a different  sort. 
Even  so  faithful  a friend  as  Raymond,  editor  of  The  Times 
and  Chairman  of  the  Republican  National  Executive  Com- 
mittee, labored  hard  in  print  to  prove  that  because  Lincoln 
said  he  ‘‘would  consider  terms  that  embraced  the  integrity 
of  the  Union  and  the  abandonment  of  slavery,  he  did  not 
say  that  he  would  not  receive  them,  unless  they  embraced 


374 


LINCOLN 


both  these  conditions.”"  What  would  Sumner  and  all  the 
Abolitionists  say  to  that  ? As  party  strategy,  in  the  moment 
when  the  old  Vindictive  Coalition  seemed  on  the  highroad 
to  complete  revival,  was  that  exactly  the  tune  to  sing? 
Then  too  there  was  the  other  cry  that  also  made  a fearful 
ringing  in  the  ears  of  the  much  alarmed  Executive  Com- 
mittee. There  was  wild  talk  in  the  air  of  an  armistice. 
The  hysteric  Greeley  had  put  it  into  a personal  letter  to 
Lincoln.  “I  know  that  nine-tenths  of  the  whole  American 
people.  North  and  South,  are  anxious  for  peace — peace  on 
any  terms — and  are  utterly  sick  of  human  slaughter  and 
devastation.  I know  that,  to  the  general  eye,  it  now  seems 
that  the  Rebels  are  anxious  to  negotiate  and  that  we  repulse 
their  advances.  ...  I beg  you,  I implore  you  to  in- 
augurate or  invite  proposals  for  peace  forthwith.  And  in 
case  peace  can  not  now  be  made,  consent  to  an  armistice 
for  one  year,  each  party  to  retain  all  it  now  holds,  but  the 
Rebel  ports  to  be  opened.  Meantime,  let  a national  conven- 
tion be  held  and  there  will  surely  be  no  war  at  all  events.”^ 
This  armistice  movement  was  industriously  advertised 
in  the  Democratic  papers.  It  was  helped  along  by  the 
Washington  correspondent  of  The  Herald  who  sowed 
broadcast  the  most  improbable  stories  with  regard  to  it. 
To-day,  Secretary  Fessenden  was  a convert  to  the  idea; 
another  day.  Senator  Wilson  had  taken  it  up;  again,  the 
President,  himself,  was  for  an  armistice.^ 

A great  many  things  came  swiftly  to  a head  within  a 
few  days  before  or  after  the  twentieth  of  August.  Every 
day  or  two,  rumor  took  a new  turn;  or  some  startling  new 
alignment  was  glimpsed ; and  every  one  reacted  to  the  news 
after  his  kind.  And  always  the  feverish  question,  what  is 
the  strength  of  the  faction  that  approves  this?  Or,  how 


THE  AUGUST  CONSPIRACY 


375 


far  will  this  go  toward  creating  a new  element  in  the  poli- 
tical kaleidoscope?  About  the  twentieth  of  August,  Ja- 
quess  and  Gilmore  threw  a splashing  stone  into  these 
troubled  waters.  They  published  in  The  Atlantic  a full 
account  of  their  interview  with  Davis,  who,  in  the  clearest, 
most  unfaltering  way  had  told  them  that  the  Southerners 
were  fighting  for  independence  and  for  nothing  else;  that 
no  compromise  over  slavery;  nothing  but  the  recognition 
of  the  Confederacy  as  a separate  nation  would  induce  them 
to  put  up  their  bright  swords.  As  Lincoln  subsequently, 
in  his  perfect  clarity  of  speech,  represented  Davis:  ‘^He 
would  accept  nothing  short  of  severance  of  the  Union — 
precisely  what  we  will  not  and  can  not  give.  . . . He 

does  not  attempt  to  deceive  us.  He  affords  us  no  excuse 
to  deceive  ourselves.  He  can  not  voluntarily  reaccept  the 
Union;  we  can  not  voluntarily  yield  it.”^^ 

Whether  without  the  intrusion  of  Jaquess  and  Gil- 
more, the  Executive  Committee  would  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  they  now  reached,  is  a mere  speculation.  They 
thought  they  were  at  the  point  of  desperation.  They 
thought  they  saw^  a way  out,  a way  that  reminds  one  of 
Jaquess  and  Gilmore.  On  the  twenty-second,  Raymond 
sent  that  letter  to  Lincoln  about  ‘'the  tide  setting  strongly 
against  us.’'  He  also  proposed  the  Committee’s  way  of 
escape:  nothing  but  to  offer  peace  to  Davis  “on  the  sole 
condition  of  acknowledging  the  supremacy  of  the  Consti- 
tution— all  other  questions  to  be  settled  in  a convention  of 
the  people  of  all  the  States.”^^  He  assumed  the  offer 
would  be  rejected.  Thus  the  clamor  for  negotiation  would 
be  met  and  brought  to  naught.  Having  sent  off  his  letter, 
Raymond  got  his  committee  together  and  started  for  Wash- 
ington for  a council  of  desperation. 


376 


LINCOLN 


And  this  brings  us  to  the  twenty-third  of  August.  On 
that  day,  pondering  Raymond’s  letter,  Lincoln  took  thought 
with  himself  what  he  should  say  to  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee. A mere  opportunist  would  have  met  the  situation 
with  some  insincere  proposal,  by  the  formulation  of  terms 
that  would  have  certainly  been  rejected.  We  have  seen 
how  Lincoln  reasoned  in  such  a connection  when  he  drew 
up  the  memorandum  for  Jaquess  and  Gilmore.  His  present 
problem  involved  nothing  of  this  sort.  What  he  was  think- 
ing out  was  how  best  to  induce  the  committee  to  accept  his 
own  attitude;  to  become  for  the  moment  believers  in  des- 
tiny; to  nail  their  colors;  turn  their  backs  as  he  was  doing 
on  these  devices  of  diplomacy;  and  as  to  the  rest — permit 
to  heaven. 

Whatever  his  managers  might  think,  the  serious  matter 
in  Lincoln’s  mind,  that  twenty-third  of  August,  was  the 
draft.  And  back  of  the  draft,  a tremendous  matter  which 
probably  none  of  them  at  the  time  appreciated.  Assuming 
that  they  were  right  in  their  political  forecast,  assuming 
that  he  was  not  to  be  reelected,  what  did  it  signify?  For 
him,  there  was  but  one  answer:  that  he  had  only  five 
months  in  which  to  end  the  war.  And  with  the  tide  running 
strong  against  him,  what  could  he  do?  But  one  thing: 
use  the  war  powers  while  they  remained  in  his  hands  in 
every  conceivable  way  that  might  force  a conclusion  on 
the  field  of  battle.  He  recorded  his  determination.  A 
Cabinet  meeting  was  held  on  the  twenty-third.  Lincoln 
handed  his  Ministers  a folded  paper  and  asked  them  to 
write  their  initials  on  the  back.  At  the  time  he  gave  them 
no  intimation  what  the  paper  contained.  It  was  the  fol- 
lowing memorandum:  “This  morning,  as  for  some  days 
past,  it  seems  exceedingly  probable  that  this  Administration 


THE  AUGUST  CONSPIRACY 


377 


will  not  be  reelected.  Then  it  will  be  my  duty  to  so  co- 
operate with  the  President  elect  as  to  save  the  Union  be- 
tween the  election  and  the  inauguration,  as  he  will  have 
secured  his  election  on  such  ground  that  he  can  not  possibly 
save  it  afterward.”^^ 

He  took  into  his  confidence  ^‘the  stronger  half  of  the 
Cabinet,  Seward,  Stanton  and  Fessenden,”  and  together 
they  assaulted  the  Committee. It  was  a reception  amaz- 
ingly different  from  what  had  been  expected.  Instead  of 
terrified  party  diplomats  shaking  in  their  shoes,  trying  to 
face  all  points  at  once,  morbid  over  possible  political  defeats 
in  every  quarter,  they  found  what  may  have  seemed  to 
them  a man  in  a dream;  one  who  was  intensely  sad,  but 
who  gave  no  suggestion  of  panic,  no  solicitude  about  his 
own  fate,  no  doubt  of  his  ultimate  victory.  Their  prac- 
tical astuteness  was  disarmed  by  that  higher  astuteness 
attained  only  by  peculiar  minds  which  can  discern  through 
some  sure  interior  test  the  rare  moment  when  it  is  the 
part  of  wisdom  not  to  be  astute  at  all. 

Backed  by  those  strong  Ministers,  all  entirely  under  his 
influence,  Lincoln  fully  persuaded  the  Committee  that  at 
this  moment,  any  overture  for  peace  would  be  the  worst 
of  strategic  blunders,  ‘‘would  be  worse  than  losing  the 
presidential  contest — it  would  be  ignominiously  surrender- 
ing it  in  advance.”^^ 

Lincoln  won  a complete  spiritual  victory  over  the  Com- 
mittee. These  dispirited  men,  who  had  come  to  Wash- 
ington to  beg  for  a policy  of  negotiation,  went  away  in 
such  a different  temper  that  Bennett’s  Washington  corre- 
spondent jeered  in  print  at  the  “silly  report”  of  their  hav- 
ing assembled  to  discuss  peace.^^  Obviously,  they  had 
merely  held  a meeting  of  the  Executive  Committee.  The 


378 


LINCOLN 


Tribune  correspondent  telegraphed  that  they  were  confx- 
dent  of  Lincoln’s  reelection. 

On  the  day  following  the  conference  with  Lincoln,  The 
Times  announced:  ‘'You  may  rest  assured  that  all  reports 
attributing  to  the  government  any  movements  looking  to- 
ward negotiations  for  peace  at  present  are  utterly  without 
foundation.  . . . The  government  has  not  enter- 

tained or  discussed  the  project  of  proposing  an  armistice 
with  the  Rebels  nor  has  it  any  intention  of  sending  com- 
missioners to  Richmond  ...  its  sole  and  undivided 
purpose  is  to  prosecute  the  war  until  the  rebellion  is 
quelled.  . . .”  Of  equal  significance  was  the  an- 
nouncement by  The  Times,  fairly  to  be  considered  the 
Administration  organ:  “The  President  stands  firm  against 
every  solicitation  to  postpone  the  draft.”^’’ 


XXXIII 


THE  RALLY  TO  THE  PRESIDENT 

The  question  insists  upon  rising  again:  were  the  anti- 
Lincoln  politicians  justified  in  their  exultation,  the  Lincoln 
politicians  justified  in  their  panic?  Nobody  will  ever 
know;  but  it  is  worth  considering  that  the  shrewd  oppor- 
tunist who  expressed  himself  through  The  Herald  changed 
his  mind  during  a fortnight  in  August.  By  one  of  those 
odd  coincidences  of  which  history  is  full,  it  was  on  the 
twenty-third  of  the  month  that  he  warned  the  Democrats 
and  jeered  at  the  Republicans  in  this  insolent  fashion: 

‘‘Many  of  our  leading  Republicans  are  now  furious 
against  Lincoln.  . . . Bryant  of  The  Evening  Post  is 

very  angry  with  Lincoln  because  Henderson,  The  Post's 
publisher,  has  been  arrested  for  defrauding  the  government. 
. . . Raymond  is  a little  shaky  and  has  to  make  fre- 
quent journeys  to  Washington  for  instructions.  . . . 

^^Now,  to  what  does  all  this  amount?  Our  experience 
of  politics  convinces  us  that  it  amounts  to  nothing.  The 
sorehead  Republicans  complain  that  Lincoln  gives  them 
either  too  little  shoddy  or  too  little  nigger.  What  candi- 
date can  they  find  who  will  give  them  more  of  either? 

‘The  Chicago  (Democratic)  delegates  must  very  em- 
phatically comprehend  that  they  must  beat  the  whole  Re- 
publican party  if  they  elect  their  candidate.  It  is  a strong 
party  even  yet  and  has  a heavy  army  vote  to  draw  upon. 
The  error  of  relying  too  greatly  upon  the  weakness  of  the 

379 


380 


LINCOLN 


Republicans  as  developed  in  the  quarrels  of  the  Republican 
leaders,  may  prove  fatal  . . . the  Republican  leaders 

. . . may  have  their  personal  quarrels,  or  their  shoddy 

quarrels,  or  their  nigger  quarrels  with  Old  Abe ; but  he  has 
the  whiphand  of  them  and  they  will  soon  be  bobbing  back 
into  the  Republican  fold,  like  sheep  who  have  gone  astray. 
The  most  of  the  fuss  some  of  them  kick  up  now,  is  simply 
to  force  Lincoln  to  give  them  their  terms.  . . . 

have  studied  all  classes  of  politicians  in  our  day 
and  we  warn  the  Chicago  Convention  to  put  no  trust  in 
the  Republican  soreheads.  Furiously  as  some  of  them  de- 
nounce Lincoln  now,  and  lukewarm  as  the  rest  of  them 
are  in  his  cause,  they  will  all  be  shouting  for  him  as  the 
only  true  Union  candidate  as  soon  as  the  nominations  have 
all  been  made  and  the  chances  for  bargains  have  passed. 
. . . Whatever  they  say  now,  we  venture  to  predict 

that  Wade  and  his  tail;  and  Bryant  and  his  tail;  and  Wen- 
dell Phillips  and  his  tail;  and  Weed,  Barney,  Chase  and 
their  tails;  and  Winter  Davis,  Raymond,  Opdyke  and  For- 
ney who  have  no  tails;  will  all  make  tracks  for  Old  Abe’s 
plantation,  and  will  soon  be  found  crowing  and  blowing, 
and  vowing  and  writing,  and  swearing  and  stumping  the 
state  on  his  side,  declaring  that  he  and  he  alone,  is  the 
hope  of  the  nation,  the  bugaboo  of  Jeff  Davis,  the  first  of 
Conservatives,  the  best  of  Abolitionists,  the  purest  of 
patriots,  the  most  gullible  of  mankind,  the  easiest  President 
to  manage,  and  the  person  especially  predestined  and  fore- 
ordained by  Providence  to  carry  on  the  war,  free  the  nig- 
gers, and  give  all  the  faithful  a fair  share  of  the  spoils. 
The  spectacle  will  be  ridiculous;  but  it  is  inevitable.”^ 

The  cynic  of  The  Herald  had  something  to  go  upon 
besides  his  general  knowledge  of  politicians  and  elections. 


THE  RALLY  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  381’ 


The  Manifesto  had  not  met  with  universal  acclaim.  In  the 
course  of  this  month  of  surprises,  there  were  several  things 
that  an  apprehensive  observer  might  interpret  as  the  shadow 
of  that  hand  of  fate  which  was  soon  to  appear  upon  the 
wall.  In  the  Republican  Convention  of  the  Nineteenth 
Ohio  District,  which  included  Ashtabula  County,  Wade's 
county,  there  were  fierce  words  and  then  with  few  dis- 
senting votes,  a resolution,  ‘‘That  the  recent  attack  upon 
the  President  by  Wade  and  Davis  is,  in  our  opinion,  ill- 
timed,  ill-tempered,  and  ill-advised  . . . and  inas- 

much as  one  of  the  authors  of  said  protest  is  a citizen  of 
this  Congressional  District  and  indebted  in  no  small  degree 
to  our  friendship  for  the  position,  we  deem  it  a duty  no 
less  imperative  than  disagreeable,  to  pronounce  upon  that 
disorganizing  Manifesto  our  unqualified  disapproval  and 
condemnation. 

To  be  sure  there  were  plenty  of  other  voices  from 
Ohio  and  elsewhere  applauding  “The  War  on  the  Presi- 
dent.” Nevertheless,  there  were  signs  of  a reluctance  to 
join  the  movement,  and  some  of  these  in  quarters  where 
they  had  been  least  expected.  Notably,  the  Abolitionist 
leaders  were  slow  to  come  forward.  Sumner  was  par- 
ticularly slow.  He  was  ready,  indeed,  to  admit  that  a 
better  candidate  than  Lincoln  could  be  found,  and  there 
was  a whisper  that  the  better  candidate  was  himself.  How- 
ever, he  was  unconditional  that  he  would  not  participate 
in  a fight  against  Lincoln.  If  the  President  could  be  per- 
suaded to  withdraw,  that  was  one  thing.  But  otherwise — 
no  Sumner  in  the  conspiracy.^ 

Was  it  possible  that  Chandler,  Wade,  Davis  and  the 
rest  had  jumped  too  soon?  To  rebuild  the  Vindictive 
Coalition,  the  group  in  which  Sumner  had  a place  was 


382 


LINCOLN 


essential.  This  group  was  composed  of  Abolitionists, 
chiefly  New  Englanders,  and  for  present  purpose  their 
central  figure  was  Andrew,  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts. 
During  the  latter  half  of  August,  the  fate  of  the  Con- 
spiracy hung  on  the  question.  Can  Andrew  and  his  group 
be  drawn  in? 

Andrew  did  not  like  the  President.  He  was  one  of 
those  who  never  got  over  their  first  impression  of  the 
strange  new  man  of  1861.  He  insisted  that  Lincoln  lacked 
the  essential  qualities  of  a leader.  “To  comprehend  this 
objection,”  says  his  frank  biographer,  “which  to  us  seems 
so  astoundingly  wide  of  the  mark,  we  must  realize  that 
whenever  the  New  Englander  of  that  generation  uttered 
the  word  ‘leader’  his  mind’s  eye  was  filled  with  the  image 
of  Daniel  Webster  . . . his  commanding  presence, 

his  lofty  tone  about  affairs  of  state,  his  sonorous  profession 
of  an  ideal,  his  whole  ex  cathedra  attitude.  All  those 
characteristics  supplied  the  aristocratic  connotation  of  the 
word  ‘leader’  as  required  by  a community  in  which  a con- 
siderable measure  of  aristocratic  sympathy  still  lingered. 

. . . Andrew  and  his  friends  were  like  the  men  of  old 

who  having  known  Saul  before  time,  and  beholding  him 
prophesying,  asked  ‘Is  Saul  also  among  the  prophets  ?’ 

But  Andrew  stood  well  outside  the  party  cabals  that 
were  hatched  at  Washington.  He  and  his  gave  the  con- 
spirators a hearing  from  a reason  widely  different  from  any 
of  theirs.  They  distrusted  the  Executive  Committee.  The 
argument  that  had  swept  the  Committee  for  the  moment 
off  its  feet  filled  the  stern  New  Englanders  with  scorn. 
They  were  prompt  to  deny  any  sympathy  with  the  armistice 
movement.'"  As  Andrew  put  it,  the  chief  danger  of  the 
hour  was  the  influence  of  the  Executive  Committee  on  the 


THE  RALLY  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  383 


President,  whom  he  persisted  in  considering  a weak  man; 
the  chief  duty  of  the  hour  was  to  '‘rescue”  Lincoln,  or  in 
some  other  way  to  “check  the  peace  movement  of  the  Re- 
publican managers.”®  If  it  were  fairly  certain  that  this 
could  be  effected  only  by  putting  the  conspiracy  through, 
Andrew  would  come  in.  But  could  he  be  clear  in  his  own 
mind  that  this  was  the  thing  to  do?  While  he  hesitated, 
Jaquess  and  Gilmore  did  their  last  small  part  in  American 
history  and  left  the  stage.  They  made  a tour  of  the 
Northern  States  explaining  to  the  various  governors  the 
purposes  of  their  mission  to  Richmond,  and  reporting  in 
full  their  audience  with  Davis  and  the  impressions  they  had 
formed.^  This  was  a point  in  favor  of  Lincoln — as  An- 
drew thought.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  the  edi- 
torials of  The  Times.  As  late  as  the  twenty-fourth  of 
August,  the  day  before  the  Washington  conference,  The 
Times  asserted  that  the  President  would  waive  all  the  ob- 
jects for  which  the  war  had  been  fought,  including  Aboli- 
tion, if  any  proposition  of  peace  should  come  that  embraced 
the  integrity  of  the  Union.  To  be  sure,  this  was  not  con- 
sistent with  the  report  of  Jaquess  and  Gilmore  and  their 
statement  of  terms  actually  set  down  by  Lincoln.  And 
yet — it  came  from  the  Administration  organ  edited  by  the 
chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee.  Was  “rescue”  of 
the  President  anything  more  than  a dream? 

It  was  just  here  that  Lincoln  intervened  and  revolu- 
tionized the  whole  situation.  With  what  tense  interest 
Andrew  must  have  waited  for  reports  of  that  conference 
held  at  Washington  on  the  twenty-fifth.  And  with  what 
delight  he  must  have  received  them!  The  publication  on 
the  twenty-sixth  of  the  sweeping  repudiation  of  the  negotia- 
tion policy;  the  reassertion  that  the  Administration's  “sole 


384 


LINCOLN 


and  undivided  purpose  was  to  prosecute  the  war.’’  Simul- 
taneous was  another  announcement,  also  in  the  minds  of 
the  New  Englanders,  of  first  importance:  ‘'So  far  as  there 
being  any  probability  of  President  Lincoln  withdrawing 
from  the  canvass,  as  some  have  suggested,  the  gentlemen 
comprising  the  Committee  express  themselves  as  confident 
of  his  reelection.”® 

Meanwhile  the  letters  asking  for  signatures  to  the  pro- 
posed “call”  had  been  circulated  and  the  time  had  come 
to  take  stock  of  the  result.  From  Ohio,  Wade  had  written 
in  a sanguine  mood.  He  was  for  issuing  the  call  the 
moment  the  Democratic  Convention  had  taken  action.® 
On  the  twenty-ninth  that  convention  met.  On  the  thirtieth, 
the  conspirators  reassembled — again  at  the  house  of  David 
Dudley  Field — and  Andrew  attended.  He  had  not  com- 
mitted himself  either  way. 

And  now  Lincoln’s  firmness  with  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee had  its  reward.  The  New  Englanders  had  made 
up  their  minds.  Personally,  he  was  still  obnoxious  to 
them;  but  in  light  of  his  recent  pronouncement,  they  would 
take  their  chances  on  “rescuing”  him  from  the  Committee; 
and  since  he  would  not  withdraw,  they  would  not  co- 
operate in  splitting  the  LFnion  party.  But  they  could  not 
convince  the  conspirators.  A long  debate  ended  /in  an 
agreement  to  disagree.  The  New  Englanders  withdrew, 
confessed  partisans  of  Lincoln.^®  It  was  the  beginning  of 
the  end. 

Andrew  went  back  to  Boston  to  organize  New  Eng- 
land for  Lincoln.  J.  M.  Forbes  remained  to  organize 
New  York.^^  All  this,  ignoring  the  Executive  Committee. 
It  was  a new  Lincoln  propaganda,  not  in  opposition  to  the 
Committee  but  in  frank  rivalry.  “Since,  or  if,  we  must 


© Robert  Bruce,  Esq.,  Clinton,  Oneida  County,  New  Yo^k 


The  Last  Phase  of  Lincoln 


THE  RALLY  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  385 


have  Lincoln,”  said  Andrew,  ''men  of  motive  and  ideas 
must  get  into  the  lead,  must  elect  him,  get  hold  of  ‘the 
machine’  and  ‘run  it’  themselves.”^^ 

The  bottom  was  out  of  the  conspiracy;  but  the  leaders 
at  New  York  were  slow  to  yield.  Despite  the  New  Eng- 
land secession,  they  thought  the  Democratic  platform,  on 
which  McClellan  had  been  invited  to  stand  as  candidate 
for  the  Presidency,  gave  them  another  chance,  especially 
the  famous  resolution: 

“That  this  Convention  does  explicitly  declare,  as  the 
sense  of  the  American  people,  after  four  years  of  failure 
to  restore  the  Union  by  the  experiment  of  war,  during 
which,  under  the  pretense  of  a military  necessity,  or  war 
power  higher  than  the  Constitution,  the  Constitution  itself 
has  been  disregarded  in  every  part,  and  the  public  liberty 
and  the  private  right  alike  trodden  down  and  the  material 
prosperity  of  the  country  essentially  impaired,  justice, 
humanity,  liberty  and  the  public  welfare  demand  that  im- 
mediate efforts  be  made  for  a cessation  of  hostilities,  with 
a view  to  an  ultimate  convention  of  the  States,  or  other 
peaceable  means  to  the  end  that  at  the  earliest  practicable 
moment  peace  may  be  restored  on  the  basis  of  the  Federal 
Union  of  the  States.” 

Some  of  the  outlying  conspirators  also  suffered  a re- 
vival of  hope.  The  Cincinnati  Gazette  came  out  flat  foot 
for  the  withdrawal  of  Lincoln.^®  So  did  The  Cincinnati 
Times,  pressing  hard  for  the  new  convention. On  the 
second  of  September,  three  New  York  editors,  Greeley  for 
The  Tribune,  Parke  Godwin  for  The  Post,  and  Tilton  for 
The  Independent,  were  busily  concocting  a circular  letter 
to  Governors  of  the  States  with  a view  to  saving  the  con- 
spiracy.^^ 


386 


LINCOLN 


But  other  men  were  at  work  in  a different  fashion, 
that  same  day.  Lincoln’s  cause  had  been  wrecked  so  fre- 
quently by  his  generals  that  whenever  a general  advanced 
it,  the  event  seems  boldly  dramatic.  While  the  politicians 
at  New  York  and  Chicago  thought  they  were  loading  the 
scales  of  fate,  long  lines  of  men  in  blue  were  moving 
through  broken  woodland  and  over  neglected  fields  against 
the  gray  legions  defending  Atlanta.  Said  General  Hood, 
it  was  ‘‘evident  that  General  Sherman  was  moving  with 
his  main  body  to  destroy  the  Macon  road,  and  that  the 
fate  of  Atlanta  depended  on  our  ability  to  defeat  this 
movement.”  During  the  fateful  pow-pow  at  the  house 
of  Dudley  Field,  Sherman’s  army  like  a colossal  scythe 
was  swinging  round  Atlanta,  from  the  west  and  south, 
across  Flint  River,  through  the  vital  railway,  on  toward 
the  city.  On  the  second  of  September,  the  news  that  At- 
lanta was  taken  “electrified  the  people  of  the  North.”^® 
The  first  thought  of  every  political  faction,  when,  on 
the  third,  the  newspapers  were  ringing  with  this  great 
news,  was  either  how  to  capitalize  it  for  themselves,  or 
how  to  forestall  its  capitalization  by  some  one  else.  Forbes 
“dashed  off”  a letter  to  Andrew  urging  an  immediate 
demonstration  for  Lincoln.^  ^ He  was  sure  the  Raymond 
group  would  somehow  try  to  use  the  victory  as  a basis  for 
recovering  their  leadership.  Davis  was  eager  to  issue  the 
“call”  at  once.^^  But  his  fellows  hesitated.  And  while 
they  hesitated,  Andrew  and  the  people  acted.  On  the  sixth, 
a huge  Lincoln  rally  was  held  at  Faneul  Hall.  Andrew 
presided.  Sumner  spoke.^^  That  same  day,  Vermont  held 
State  elections  and  went  Republican  by  a rousing  majority. 
On  the  day  following  occurred  the  convention  of  the  Union 
party  of  New  York.  Enthusiastic  applause  was  elicited 


THE  RALLY  TO  THE  PRESIDENT  387 


by  a telegram  from  Vermont.  ‘The  first  shell  that  was 
thrown  by  Sherman  into  Atlanta  has  exploded  in  the  Cop- 
perhead Camp  in  this  State,  and  the  Unionists  have  poured 
in  a salute  with  shotted  guns.”^^  The  mixed  metaphors 
did  not  reduce  the  telegram’s  effect.  The  New  York  Con- 
vention formally  endorsed  Lincoln  as  the  candidate  of  the 
Union  party  for  President. 

So  much  for  the  serious  side  of  the  swiftly  changing 
political  kaleidoscope.  There  was  also  a comic  side.  Only 
three  days  sufficed — from  Davis’s  eagerness  to  proceed  on 
the  fourth  to  letters  and  articles  written  or  printed  on  the 
seventh — only  three  days,  and  the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy 
began  turning  their  coats.  A typical  letter  of  the  seventh 
dated  at  Syracuse  describes  “an  interview  with  Mr.  Op- 
dyke  this  morning,  who  told  me  the  result  of  his  efforts 
to  obtain  signatures  to  our  call  which  was  by  no  means 
encouraging.  I have  found  the  same  sentiment  prevail- 
ing here.  A belief  that  it  is  too  late  to  make  any  effectual 
demonstration,  and  therefore  that  it  is  not  wise  to  attempt 
any.  I presume  that  the  new-born  enthusiasm  created  by 
the  Atlanta  news  will  so  encourage  Lincoln  that  he  can  not 
be  persuaded  to  withdraw.”^^  Two  days  more  and  the 
anti-Lincoln  newspapers  began  to  draw  in  their  horns. 
That  Independent,  whose  editor  had  been  one  of  the  three 
in  the  last  ditch  but  a week  before,  handsomely  recanted, 
scuttling  across  to  what  now  seemed  the  winning  side. 
“The  prospect  of  victory  is  brilliant.  If  a fortnight  ago 
the  prospect  of  Mr.  Lincoln’s  reelection  seemed  doubtful, 
the  case  is  now  changed.  The  odious  character  of  the  Chi- 
cago platform,  the  sunshiny  effect  of  the  late  victories,  have 
rekindled  the  old  enthusiasm  in  loyal  hearts. One  day 
more,  and  Greeley  sullenly  took  his  medicine.  The 


388 


LINCOLN 


Tribune  began  printing  “The  Union  Ticket — for  Presi- 
dent, Abraham  Lincoln.” 

There  remains  the  most  diverting  instance  of  the  haste 
with  which  coats  were  turned.  On  the  sixth  of  Septem- 
ber, only  three  days  after  Atlanta! — the  very  day  of  the 
great  Lincoln  rally,  the  crown  of  Andrew’s  generalship,  at 
Fanuel  Hall — a report  was  sent  out  from  Washington  that 
“Senator  Wade  is  to  take  the  stump  for  Mr.  Lincoln.”^^ 
Less  than  a week  later  The  Washington  Chronicle  had 
learned  “with  satisfaction,  though  not  with  surprise,  that 
Senator  Wade,  notwithstanding  his  signature  to  a cele- 
brated Manifesto,  had  enrolled  himself  among  the  Lincoln 
forces.”^^  Exactly  two  weeks  after  Atlanta,  Wade  made 
his  first  speech  for  Lincoln  as  President.  It  was  a “terrific 
assault  upon  the  Copperhead  policy.”^*^ 

The  ship  of  the  conspiracy  was  sinking  fast,  and  on 
every  hand  was  heard  a scurrying  patter  of  escaping — 
politicians. 


XXXIV 


‘'father  abraham” 

The  key-notes  of  Lincoln’s  course  with  the  Executive 
Committee — his  refusal  to  do  anything  that  appeared  to 
him  to  be  futile,  his  firmness  not  to  cast  about  and  experi- 
ment after  a policy,  his  basing  of  all  his  plans  on  the  vision 
in  his  own  mind  of  their  sure  fruitage — these  continued 
to  be  his  key-notes  throughout  the  campaign.  They  ruled 
his  action  in  a difficult  matter  with  which  he  was  quickly 
forced  to  deal. 

Montgomery  Blair,  the  Postmaster  General,  was  widely 
and  bitterly  disliked.  Originally  a radical  Republican,  he 
had  quarreled  with  that  wing  of  the  party.  In  1863  the 
Union  League  of  Philadelphia,  which  elected  all  the  rest 
of  the  Cabinet  honorary  members  of  its  organization, 
omitted  Blair.  A reference  to  the  Cabinet  in  the  Union 
platform  of  1864  was  supposed  to  be  a hint  that  the  Post- 
master General  would  serve  his  country,  if  he  resigned. 
During  the  dark  days  of  the  summer  of  1864,  the  Presi- 
dent’s mail  was  filled  with  supplications  for  the  dismissal 
of  Blair. ^ He  was  described  as  an  incubus  that  might 
cause  the  defeat  of  the  Administration. 

If  the  President’s  secretaries  were  not  prejudiced  wit- 
nesses, Blair  had  worn  out  his  welcome  in  the  Cabinet. 
He  had  grown  suspicious.  He  tried  to  make  Lincoln  be- 
lieve that  Seward  was  plotting  with  the  Copperheads. 
Nevertheless,  Lincoln  turned  a deaf  ear  to  the  clamor 

389 


390 


LINCOLN 


against  him.  Merely  personal  considerations  were  not 
compelling.  If  it  was  true,  as  for  a while  he  believed  it 
was,  that  his  election  was  already  lost,  he  did  not  pro- 
pose to  throw  Blair  over  as  a mere  experiment.  True  to 
his  principles  he  would  not  become  a juggler  with  futility. 

The  turn  of  the  tide  in  his  favor  put  the  matter  in  a 
new  light.  All  the  enemies  of  Blair  renewed  their  attack 
on  a slightly  different  line.  One  of  those  powerful  New 
Englanders  who  had  come  to  Lincoln’s  aid  at  such  an 
opportune  moment  led  off.  On  the  second  day  following 
the  news  of  Atlanta,  Henry  Wilson  wrote  to  him,  ‘'Blair, 
every  one  hates.  Tens  of  thousands  of  men  will  be  lost 
to  you,  or  will  give  you  a reluctant  vote  because  of  the 
Blairs.”2 

If  this  was  really  true,  the  selfless  man  would  not 
hesitate  to  require  of  Blair  the  same  sort  of  sacrifice  he 
would,  in  other  conditions,  require  of  himself.  Lincoln 
debated  this  in  his  own  mind  nearly  three  weeks. 

Meanwhile,  various  other  politicians  joined  the  hue  and 
cry.  An  old  friend  of  Lincoln’s,  Ebenezer  Peck,  came  east 
from  Illinois  to  work  upon  him  against  Blair.®  Chandler, 
who  like  Wade  was  eager  to  get  out  of  the  wrong  ship,  ap- 
peared at  Washington  as  a friend  of  the  Administration 
and  an  enemy  of  Blair.'*  But  still  Lincoln  did  not  respond. 
After  all,  was  it  certain  that  one  of  these  votes  would 
change  if  Blair  did  not  resign?  Would  anything.be  ac- 
complished, should  Lincoln  require  his  resignation,  except 
the  humiliation  of  a friend,  the  gratification  of  a pack  of 
malcontents?  And  then  some  one  thought  of  a mode  for 
giving  definite  political  value  to  Blair’s  removal.  Who 
did  it?  The  anonymous  author  of  the  only  biography  of 
Chandler  claims  this  doubtful  honor  for  the  great  Jacobin. 


“FATHER  ABRAHAM” 


391 


Lincoln’s  secretaries,  including  Colonel  Stoddard  who  had 
charge  of  his  correspondence,  are  ignorant  on  the  subject.® 
It  may  well  have  been  Chandler  who  negotiated  a bargain 
with  Fremont,  if  the  story  is  to  be  trusted,  which  con- 
cerned Blair.  A long-standing,  relentless  quarrel  sepa- 
rated these  two.  That  Fremont  as  a candidate  was  nobody 
had  long  been  apparent ; and  yet  it  was  worth  while  to  get 
rid  of  him.  Chandler,  or  another,  extracted  a promise 
from  Fremont  that  if  Blair  were  removed,  he  would  re- 
sign. On  the  strength  of  this  promise,  a last  appeal  was 
made  to  Lincoln.  Such  is  the  legend.  The  known  fact 
is  that  on  September  twenty-second  Fremont  withdrew 
his  candidacy.  The  next  day  Lincoln  sent  this  note  to 
Blair : 

“You  have  generously  said  to  me  more  than  once  that 
whenever  your  resignation  could  be  a relief  to  me,  it  was 
at  my  disposal.  The  time  has  come.  You  very  well  know 
that  this  proceeds  from  no  dissatisfaction  of  mine,  with  you 
personally  or  officially.  Your  uniform  kindness  has  been 
unsurpassed  by  that  of  any  friend.  . . 

No  incident  displays  more  clearly  the  hold  which  Lin- 
coln had  acquired  on  the  confidence  and  the  affection  of 
his  immediate  associates.  Blair  at  once  tendered  his  res- 
ignation : “I  can  not  take  leave  of  you,”  said  he,  “without 
renewing  the  expression  of  my  gratitude  for  the  uni- 
form kindness  which  has  marked  your  course  with 
regard  to  myself.””^  That  he  was  not  perfunctory,  that  his 
great  chief  had  acquired  over  him  an  ascendency  which  was 
superior  to  any  strain,  was  demonstrated  a few  days  later 
in  New  York.  On  the  twenty-seventh.  Cooper  Institute 
was  filled  with  an  enthusiastic  Lincoln  meeting.  Blair 
was  a speaker.  He  was  received  with  loud  cheers  and  took 


LINCOLN 


392 

occasion  to  touch  upon  his  relations  with  the  President. 
“I  retired,”  said  he,  “on  the  recommendation  of  my  own 
father.  My  father  has  passed  that  period  of  life  when  its 
honors  or  its  rewards,  or  its  glories  have  any  charm  for 
him.  He  looks  backward  only,  and  forward  only,  to  the 
grandeur  of  this  nation  and  the  happiness  of  this  great 
people  who  have  grown  up  under  the  prosperous  condition 
of  the  Union;  and  he  would  not  permit  a son  of  his  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  glorious  and  patriotic  President 
who  leads  us  on  to  success  and  to  the  final  triumph  that  is 
in  store  for  us.”® 

It  was  characteristic  of  this  ultimate  Lincoln  that  he 
offered  no  explanations,  even  in  terminating  the  career  of 
a minister;  that  he  gave  no  confidences.  Gently  inexorable, 
he  imposed  his  will  in  apparent  unconsciousness  that  it 
might  be  questioned.  Along  with  his  overmastering  kind- 
ness, he  had  something  of  the  objectivity  of  a natural  force. 
It  was  the  mood  attained  by  a few  extraordinary  men  who 
have  reached  a point  where,  without  becoming  egoists,  they 
no  longer  distinguish  between  themselves  and  circumstance; 
the  mood  of  those  creative  artists  who  have  lost  them- 
selves, in  the  strange  way  which  the  dreamers  have  who 
have  also  found  themselves. 

Even  in  the  new  fascination  of  the  probable  turn  of  the 
tide,  Lincoln  did  not  waver  in  his  fixed  purpose  to  give  all 
his  best  energies,  and  the  country’s  best  energies,  to  the 
war.  In  October,  there  was  a new  panic  over  the  draft. 
Cameron  implored  him  to  suspend  it  in  Pennsylvania  until 
after  the  presidential  election.  An  Ohio  committee  went 
to  Washington  with  the  same  request.  Why  should  not 
the  arguments  that  had  prevailed  vv^ith  him,  or  were  sup- 
posed to  have  prevailed  with  him,  for  the  removal  of  a 


“FATHER  ABRAHAM” 


393 


minister,  prevail  also  in  the  way  of  a brief  flagging  of  mili- 
tary preparation?  But  Lincoln  would  not  look  upon  the 
two  cases  in  the  same  spirit.  “What  is  the  Presidency 
worth  to  me,”  he  asked  the  Ohio  committee,  “if  I have  no 
country  ?”^ 

From  the  active  campaign  he  held  himself  aloof.  He 
made  no  political  speeches.  He  wrote  no  political  letters. 
The  army  received  his  constant  detailed  attention.  In  his 
letters  to  Grant,  he  besought  him  to  be  unwavering  in  a 
relentless  persistency. 

As  Hay  records,  he  was  aging  rapidly.  The  immense 
strain  of  his  labor  was  beginning  to  tell  both  in  his  features 
and  his  expression.  He  was  moving  in  a shadow.  But  his 
old  habit  of  merriment  had  not  left  him;  though  it  was 
now,  more  often,  a surface  merriment.  On  the  night  of 
the  October  elections,  Lincoln  sat  in  the  telegraph  room  of 
the  War  Office  while  the  reports  were  coming  in.  “The 
President  in  a lull  of  despatches,  took  from  his  pocket  the 
Naseby  Papers  and  read  several  chapters  of  the  Saint  and 
Martyr,  Petroleum  V.  They  were  immensely  amusing. 
Stanton  and  Dana  enjoyed  them  scarcely  less  than  the 
President,  who  read  on,  con  amore,  until  nine  o’clock.”^ 

The  presidential  election  was  held  on  the  eighth  of  No- 
vember. That  night,  Lincoln  with  his  Secretary  was  again 
in  the  War  Office.  The  early  returns  showed  that  the 
whole  North  was  turning  to  him  in  enormous  majorities. 
He  showed  no  exultation.  When  the  Assistant  Secretary 
of  the  Navy  spoke  sharply  of  the  complete  effacement  po- 
litically of  Henry  Winter  Davis  against  whom  he  had  a 
grudge,  Lincoln  said,  “You  have  more  of  that  feeling  of 
personal  resentment  than  1.  Perhaps  I have  too  little  of  it ; 
but  I never  thought  it  paid.  A man  has  no  time  to  spend 


394 


LINCOLN 


half  his  life  in  quarrels.  If  any  man  ceases  to  attack  me 
I never  remember  the  past  against  him.”^^ 

“Towards  midnight/’  says  Hay  in  his  diary,  “we  had 
supper.  The  President  went  awkwardly  and  hospitably  to 
work  shovelling  out  the  fried  oysters.  He  was  most  agree- 
able and  genial  all  the  evening.  . . . Captain  Thomas 

came  up  with  a band  about  half-past  two  and  made  some 
music.  The  President  answered  from  a window  with  rather 
unusual  dignity  and  effect,  and  we  came  home.”^^ 

“I  am  thankful  to  God,”  Lincoln  said,  in  response  to 
the  serenade,  “for  this  approval  of  the  people;  but  while 
grateful  for  this  mark  of  their  confidence  in  me,  if  I know 
my  heart,  my  gratitude  is  free  from  any  taint  of  personal 
triumph.  I do  not  impugn  the  motives  of  any  one  opposed 
to  me.  It  is  no  pleasure  to  me  to  triumph  over  any  one, 
but  I give  thanks  to  the  Almighty  for  this  evidence  of  the 
people’s  resolution  to  stand  by  free  government  and  the 
rights  of  humanity. 

During  the  next  few  days  a torrent  of  congratulations 
came  pouring  in.  What  most  impressed  the  secretaries 
was  his  complete  freedom  from  elation.  “He  seemed  to 
deprecate  his  own  triumph  and  sympathize  rather  with  the 
beaten  than  the  victorious  party.”  His  formal  recognition 
of  the  event  was  a prepared  reply  to  a serenade  on  the 
night  of  November  tenth.  A great  crowd  filled  the  space 
in  front  of  the  north  portico  of  the  White  House.  Lin- 
coln appeared  at  a window.  A secretary  stood  at  his  side 
holding  a lighted  candle  while  he  read  from  a manuscript. 
The  brief  address  is  justly  ranked  among  his  ablest  occa- 
sional utterances.  As  to  the  mode  of  the  deliverance,  he 
said  to  Hay,  “Not  very  graceful,  but  I am  growing  old 
enough  not  to  care  much  for  the  manner  of  doing  things.”^* 


XXXV 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 

In  Lincoln's  life  there  are  two  great  achievements. 
One  he  brought  to  pass  in  time  for  him  to  behold  his  own 
victory.  The  other  he  saw  only  with  the  eyes  of  faith. 
The  first  was  the  drawing  together  of  all  the  elements  of 
nationalism  in  the  American  people  and  consolidating  them 
into  a driving  force.  The  second  was  laying  the  founda- 
tion of  a political  temper  that  made  impossible  a permanent 
victory  for  the  Vindictives.  It  was  the  sad  fate  of.  this 
nation,  because  Lincoln’s  hand  was  struck  from  the  tiller 
at  the  very  instant  of  the  crisis,  to  suffer  the  temporary  suc- 
cess of  that  faction  he  strove  so  hard  to  destroy.  The  tran- 
sitoriness of  their  evil  triumph,  the  eventual  rally  of  the 
nation  against  them,  was  the  final  victory  of  the  spirit  of 
Lincoln. 

The  immediate  victory  he  appreciated  more  fully  and 
measured  more  exactly,  than  did  any  one  else.  He  put  it 
into  words  in  the  fifth  message.  While  others  were  crow- 
ing with  exaltation  over  a party  triumph,  he  looked  deeper 
to  the  psychological  triumph.  Scarcely  another  saw  that 
the  most  significant  detail  of  the  hour  was  in  the  Demo- 
cratic attitude.  Even  the  bitterest  enemies  of  nationalism, 
even  those  who  were  believed  by  all  others  to  desire  the 
breaking  of  the  Union,  had  not  thought  it  safe  to  say  so. 
They  had  veiled  their  intent  in  specious  words.  McClellan 
in  accepting  the  Democratic  nomination  had  repudiated  the 

395 


396 


LINCOLN 


idea  of  disunion.  Whether  the  Democratic  politicians  had 
agreed  with  him  or  not,  they  had  not  dared  to  contradict 
him.  This  was  what  Lincoln  put  the  emphasis  on  in  his 
message:  “The  purpose  of  the  people  within  the  loyal 

States  to  maintain  the  Union  was  never  more  firm  nor 
more  nearly  unanimous  than  now.  ...  No  candidate 
for  any  office,  high  or  low,  has  ventured  to  seek  votes  on  the 
avowal  that  he  was  for  giving  up  the  Union.  There  have 
been  much  impugning  of  motive  and  much  heated  contro- 
versy as  to  the  proper  means  and  best  mode  of  advancing 
the  Union  cause;  but  on  the  distinct  issue  of  Union  or  No 
Union  the  politicians  have  shown  their  instinctive  knowl- 
edge that  there  is  no  diversity  among  the  people.  In  afford- 
ing the  people  the  fair  opportunity  of  showing  one  to  an- 
other and  to  the  world,  this  firmness  and  unanimity  of 
purpose,  the  election  has  been  of  vast  value  to  the  national 
cause. 

This  temper  of  the  final  Lincoln,  his  supreme  detach- 
ment, the  kind  impersonality  of  his  intellectual  approach, 
has  no  better  illustration  in  his  state  papers.  He  further 
revealed  it  in  a more  intimate  way.  The  day  he  sent  the 
message  to  Congress,  he  also  submitted  to  the  Senate  a 
nomination  to  the  great  office  of  Chief  Justice.  When 
Taney  died  in  the  previous  September,  there  was  an  eager 
stir  among  the  friends  of  Chase.  They  had  hopes  but  they 
felt  embarrassed.  Could  they  ask  this  great  honor,  the 
highest  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  American  President  to  be- 
stow, for  a man  who  had  been  so  lacking  in  candor  as 
Chase  had  been?  Chase’s  course  during  the  summer  had 
made  things  worse.  He  had  played  the  time-server.  No 
one  was  more  severe  upon  Lincoln  in  July;  in  August,  he 
hesitated,  would  not  quite  commit  himself  to  the  conspiracy. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 


397 


but  would  not  divScourage  it;  almost  gave  it  his  blessing; 
in  September,  but  not  until  it  was  quite  plain  that  the  con- 
spiracy was  failing,  he  came  out  for  Lincoln.  However, 
his  friends  in  the  Senate  overcame  their  embarrassment — 
how  else  could  it  be  with  Senators? — and  pressed  his  case. 
And  when  Senator  Wilson,  alarmed  at  the  President’s  si- 
lence, tried  to  apologize  for  Chase’s  harsh  remarks  about 
the  President,  Lincoln  cut  him  short.  “Oh,  as  to  that,  I 
care  nothing,”  said  he.  The  embarrassment  of  the  Chase 
propaganda  amused  him.  When  Chase  himself  took  a hand 
and  wrote  him  a letter,  Lincoln  said  to  his  secretary,  “What 
is  it  about?”  “Simply  a kind  and  friendly  letter,”  replied 
the  secretary.  Lincoln  smiled.  “File  it  with  the  other 
recommendations,”  said  he.^ 

He  regarded  Chase  as  a great  lawyer,  Taney’s  logical 
successor.  All  the  slights  the  Secretary  had  put  upon  the 
President,  the  intrigues  to  supplant  him,  the  malicious  say- 
ings, were  as  if  they  had  never  occurred.  When  Congress 
assembled,  it  was  Chase’s  name  that  he  sent  to  the  Senate. 
It  was  Chase  who,  as  Chief  Justice,  administered  the  oath 
at  Lincoln’s  second  inauguration. 

Long  since,  Lincoln  had  seen  that  there  had  ceased  to 
be  any  half-way  house  in  the  matter  of  emancipation.  Plis 
thoughts  were  chiefly  upon  the  future.  And  as  mere  strat- 
egy, he  saw  that  slavery  had  to  be  got  out  of  the  way.  It 
was  no  longer  a question,  who  liked  this,  who  did  not.  To 
him,  the  ultimate  issue  was  the  restoration  of  harmony 
among  the  States.  Those  States  which  had  been  defeated 
in  the  dread  arbitrament  of  battle,  would  in  any  event  en- 
counter difficulties,  even  deadly  perils,  in  the  narrow  way 
which  must  come  after  defeat  and  which  might  or  might 
not  lead  to  rehabilitation. 


398 


LINCOLN 


Remembering  the  Vindictive  temper,  remembering  the 
force  and  courage  of  the  Vindictive  leaders,  it  was  impera- 
tive to  clear  the  field  of  the  slavery  issue  before  the  recon- 
struction issue  was  fairly  launched.  It  was  highly  desira- 
ble to  commit  to  the  support  of  the  governments  the  whole 
range  of  influences  that  were  in  earnest  about  emancipa- 
tion. Furthermore,  the  South  itself  was  drifting  in  the 
same  direction.  In  his  interview  with  Gilmore  and  Jaquess, 
Davis  had  said:  “You  have  already  emancipated  nearly  two 
millions  of  our  slaves;  and  if  you  will  take  care  of  them, 
you  may  emancipate  the  rest.  I had  a few  when  the  war 
began.  I was  of  some  use  to  them;  they  never  were  of 
any  to  me.”^ 

The  Southern  President  had  “felt”  his  constituency  on 
the  subject  of  enrolling  slaves  as  soldiers  with  a promise 
of  emancipation  as  the  reward  of  military  service. 

The  fifth  message  urged  Congress  to  submit  to  the 
States  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution  abolishing  slavery. 
Such  action  had  been  considered  in  the  previous  session, 
but  nothing  had  been  done.  At  Lincoln’s  suggestion,  it  had 
been  recommended  in  the  platform  of  the  Union  party. 
Now,  with  the  President’s  powerful  influence  behind  it, 
with  his  prestige  at  full  circle,  the  amendment  was  rapidly 
pushed  forward.  Before  January  ended,  it  had  been  ap- 
proved by  both  Houses.  Lincoln  had  used  all  his  personal 
influence  to  strengthen  its  chances  in  Congress  where,  until 
the  last  minute,  the  vote  was  still  in  doubt. ^ 

While  the  amendment  was  taking  its  way  through  Con- 
gress, a shrewd  old  politician  who  thought  he  knew  the 
world  better  than  most  men,  that  Montgomery  Blair,  Se- 
nior, who  was  father  of  the  Postmaster  General,  had  been 
trying  on  his  own  responsibility  to  open  negotiations  be- 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 


399 


tween  Washington  and  Richmond.  His  visionary  ideas, 
which  were  wholly  without  the  results  he  intended,  have 
no  place  here.  And  yet  this  fanciful  episode  had  a signifi- 
cance of  its  own.  Had  it  not'  occurred,  the  Confederate 
government  probably  would  not  have  appointed  commis- 
sioners charged  with  the  hopeless  task  of  approaching  the 
Federal  government  for  the  purpose  of  negotiating  peace 
between  “the  two  countries.” 

Now  that  Lincoln  was  entirely  in  the  ascendent  at 
home,  and  since  the  Confederate  arms  had  recently  suffered 
terrible  reverses,  he  was  no  longer  afraid  that  negotiation 
might  appear  to  be  the  symptom  of  weakness.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  consent  to  meet  the  commissioners  himself.  On  a 
steamer  in  Hampton  Roads,  Lincoln  and  Seward  had  a long 
conference  with  three  members  of  the  Confederate  gov- 
ernment, particularly  the  Vice-President,  Alexander  H. 
Stephens. 

It  has  become  a tradition  that  Lincoln  wrote  at  the  top 
of  a sheet  of  paper  the  one  word  “Union” ; that  he  pushed 
it  across  the  table  and  said,  “Stephens,  write  under  that 
anything  you  want.”  There  appears  to  be  no  foundation 
for  the  tale  in  this  form.  The  amendment  had  committed 
the  North  too  definitely  to  emancipation.  Lincoln  could 
not  have  proposed  Union  without  requiring  emancipation, 
also.  And  yet,  with  this  limitation,  the  spirit  of  the  tradi- 
tion is  historic.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  presented 
to  the  commissioners  about  the  terms  which  the  year  before 
he  had  drawn  up  as  a memorandum  for  Gilmore  and 
Jaquess:  Union,  the  acceptance  of  emancipation,  but  also 
instantaneous  restoration  of  political  autonomy  to  the 
Southern  States,  and  all  the  influence  of  the  Administra- 
tion in  behalf  of  liberal  compensation  for  the  loss  of  slave 


400 


LINCOLN 


property.  But  the  commissioners  had  no  authority  to 
consider  terms  that  did  not  recognize  the  existence  of  ‘'two 
countries.’’ 

However,  this  Hampton  Roads  Conference  gave  Lin- 
coln a new  hope.  He  divined,  if  he  did  not  perceive,  that 
the  Confederates  were  on  the  verge  of  despair.  If  he  had 
been  a Vindictive,  this  would  have  borne  fruit  in  ferocious 
telegrams  to  his  generals  to  strike  and  spare  not.  What 
Lincoln  did  was  to  lay  before  the  Cabinet  this  proposal: 
that  they  advise  Congress  to  offer  the  Confederate  govern- 
ment the  sum  of  four  hundred  million  dollars,  provided  the 
war  end  and  the  States  -in- secession  acknowledge  the 
authority  of  the  Federal  government  previous  to  April  i, 
1865.  But  the  Cabinet,  complete  as  was  his  domination  in 
some  respects,  were  not  ripe  for  such  a move  as  this.  “ ‘You 
are  all  against  me,’  said  Lincoln  sadly  and  in  evident  sur- 
prise at  the  want  of  vStatesmanlike  liberality  on  the  part  of 
the  executive  council,”  to  quote  his  Secretary,  “folded  and 
laid  away  the  draft  of  his  message.”^  Nicolay  believes  that 
the  idea  continued  vividly  in  his  mind  and  that  it  may  be 
linked  with  his  last  public  utterance — “it  may  be  my  duty 
to  make  some  new  announcement  to  the  people  of  the 
South.  I am  considering  and  shall  not  fail  to  act  when 
satisfied  that  action  is  proper.” 

It  was  now  obvious  to  every  one  outside  the  Confed- 
eracy that  the  war  would  end  speedily  in  a Northern  vic- 
tory. To  Lincoln,  therefore,  the  duty  of  the  moment, 
overshadowing  all  else,  was  the  preparation  for  what 
should  come  after.  Reconstruction.  More  than  ever  it 
was  of  first  importance  to  decide  whether  the  President  or 
Congress  should  deal  with  this  great  matter.  And  now 
occurred  an  event  which  bore  witness  at  once  to  the  be- 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 


401 


ginning  of  Lincoln’s  final  struggle  with  the  Vindictives  and 
to  that  personal  ascendency  which  was  steadily  widening. 
One  of  those  three  original  Jacobins  agreed  to  become  his 
spokesman  in  the  Senate.  As  the  third  person  of  the 
Jacobin  brotherhood,  Lyman  Trumbull  had  always  been 
out  of  place.  He  had  gone  wrong  not  from  perversity  of 
the  soul  but  from  a mental  failing,  from  the  lack  of  in- 
herent light,  from  intellectual  conventionality.  But  he  was 
a good  man.  One  might  apply  to  him  Mrs.  Browning’s 
line:  “J^ist  a good  man  made  a great  man.”  And  in  his 
case,  as  in  so  many  others,  sheer  goodness  had  not  been 
sufficient  in  the  midst  of  a revolution  to  save  his  soul.  To 
quote  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  observers  of  human  life: 
'‘More  brains,  O Lord,  more  brains.”  Though  Trumbull 
had  the  making  of  an  Intellectual,  politics  had  very  nearly 
ruined  him.  For  all  his  good  intentions  it  took  him  a 
long  time  to  see  what  Hawthorne  saw  at  first  sight — that 
Lincoln  was  both  a powerful  character  and  an  original 
mind.  Still,  because  Trumbull  was  really  a good  man,  he 
found  a way  to  recover  his  soul.  What  his  insight  v\^as 
not  equal  to  perceiving  in  1861,  experience  slowly  made 
plain  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  next  three  years.  Before 
1865  he  had  broken  with  the  Vindictives;  he  had  come 
over  to  Lincoln.  Trumbull  still  held  the  powerful  office  of 
Chairman  of  the  Senate  Judiciary  Committee.  He  now 
undertook  to  be  the  President’s  captain  in  a battle  on  the 
floor  of  the  Senate  for  the  recognition  of  Louisiana. 

The  new  government  in  Louisiana  had  been  in  actual 
operation  for  nearly  a year.  Though  Congress  had  de- 
nounced it;  though  the  Manifesto  had  held  it  up  to  scorn 
as  a monarchial  outrage;  Lincoln  had  quietly,  steadily,  pro- 
tected and  supported  it.  It  was  discharging  the  functions 


402 


LINCOLN 


of  a regular  State  government.  A governor  had  been 
elected  and  inaugurated — that  Governor  Hahn  whom  Lin- 
coln had  congratulated  as  Louisiana’s  first  Free  State  Gov- 
ernor. He  could  say  this  because  the  new  electorate  which 
his  mandate  had  created  had  assembled  a constitutional 
convention  and  had  abolished  slavery.  And  it  had  also 
carried  out  the  President’s  views  with  regard  to  the  polit- 
ical status  of  freedmen.  Lincoln  was  not  a believer  in 
general  negro  suffrage.  He  was  as  far  as  ever  from  the 
theorizing  of  the  Abolitionists.  The  most  he  would  ap- 
prove was  the  bestowal  of  suffrage  on  a few  superior 
negroes,  leaving  the  rest  to  be  gradually  educated  into 
citizenship.  The  Louisiana  Convention  had  authorized  the 
State  Legislature  to  make,  when  it  felt  prepared  to  do  so, 
such  a limited  extension  of  suffrage.® 

In  setting  up  this  new  government,  Lincoln  had  created 
a political  vessel  in  which  practically  all  the  old  electorate 
of  Louisiana  could  find  their  places  the  moment  they  gave 
up  the  war  and  accepted  the  two  requisites,  union  and 
emancipation.  That  electorate  could  proceed  at  once  to 
rebuild  the  social-political  order  of  the  State  without  any 
interval  of  “expiation.”  All  the  power  of  the  Adminis- 
tration would  be  with  them  in  their  labors.  That  this  was 
the  wise  as  well  as  the  generous  way  to  proceed,  the  best 
minds  of  the  North  had  come  to  see.  Witness  the  con- 
version of  Trumbull.  But  there  were  four  groups  of 
fanatics  who  were  dangerous : extreme  Abolitionists  who 
clamored  for  negro  equality;  men  like  Wade  and  Chandler, 
still  mad  with  the  lust  of  conquest,  raging  at  the  President 
who  had  stood  so  resolutely  between  them  and  their  de- 
sire; the  machine  politicians  who  could  never  understand 
the  President’s  methods,  who  regarded  him  as  an  officious 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 


403 


amateur;  and  the  Little  Men  who  would  have  tried  to 
make  political  capital  of  the  blowing  of  the  last  trump. 
All  these,  each  for  a separate  motive,  attacked  the  Presi- 
dent because  of  Louisiana. 

The  new  government  had  chosen  Senators.  Here  was 
a specific  issue  over  which  the  Administration  and  its 
multiform  opposition  might  engage  in  a trial  of  strength. 
The  Senate  had  it  in-  its  power  to  refuse  to  seat  the  Louisi- 
ana Senators.  Could  the  Vindictive  leaders  induce  it  to 
go  to  that  length?  The  question  took  its  natural  course  of 
reference  to  the  Judiciary  Committee.  On  the  eighteenth 
of  February,  Trumbull  opened  what  was  destined  to  be  a 
terrible  chapter  in  American  history,  the  struggle  between 
light  and  darkness  over  reconstruction.  Trumbull  had 
ranged  behind  Lincoln  the  majority  of  his  committee. 
With  its  authority  he  moved  a joint  resolution  recognizing 
the  new  government  of  Louisiana.'^ 

And  then  began  a battle  royal.  Trumbulhs  old  asso- 
ciates were  promptly  joined  by  Sumner.  These  three 
rallied  against  the  resolution  all  the  malignancy,  all  the 
time-serving,  all  the  stupidity,  which  the  Senate  possessed. 
Bitter  language  was  exchanged  by  men  who  had  formerly 
been  as  thick  as  thieves. 

“You  and  I,”  thundered  Wade,  “did  not  differ  formerly 
on  this  subject.  We  considered  it  a mockery,  a miserable 
mockery,  to  recognize  this  Louisiana  organization  as  a State 
in  the  Union.’’  He  sneered  fiercely,  “Whence  comes  this 
new-born  zeal  of  the  Senator  from  Illinois?  . . . Sir, 

it  is  the  most  miraculous  conversion  that  has  taken  place 
since  Saint  Paul’s  time.” 

Wade  did  not  spare  the  President.  Metaphorically 
speaking,  he  shook  a fist  in  his  face,  the  fist  of  a merciless 


404 


LINCOLN 


old  giant.  ‘When  the  foundation  of  this  government  13 
sought  to  be  swept  away  by  executive  usurpation,  it  will 
not  do  to  turn  around  to  me  and  say  this  comes  from  a 
President  I helped  to  elect.  ...  If  the  President  of 
the  United  States  operating  through  his  major  generals 
can  initiate  a State  government,  and  can  bring  it  here  and 
force  us,  compel  us,  to  receive  on  this  floor  these  mere 
mockeries,  these  men  of  straw  who  represent  nobody,  your 
Republic  is  at  an  end  . . . talk  not  to  me  of  your 

ten  per  cent,  principle.  A more  absurd,  monarchial  and 
anti-American  principle  was  never  announced  on  God’s 
earth.”8 

Amidst  a rain  of  furious  personalities,  Lincoln’s 
spokesman  kept  his  poise.  It  was  sorely  tried  by  two 
things:  by  Sumner’s  frank  use  of  every  device  of  parlia- 
mentary obstruction  with  a view  to  wearing  out  the 
patience  of  the  Senate,  and  by  the  cynical  alliance,  in  order 
to  balk  Lincoln,  of  the  Vindictives  with  the  Democrats. 
What  they  would  not  risk  in  1862  when  their  principles 
had  to  wait  upon  party  needs,  they  now  considered  safe 
strategy.  And  if  ever  the  Little  Men  deserved  their  label 
it  was  when  they  played  into  the  hands  of  the  terrible  Vin- 
dictives, thus  becoming  responsible  for  the  rejection  of 
Lincoln’s  plan  of  reconstruction.  Trumbull  upbraided 
Sumner  for  “associating  himself  with  those  whom  he  so 
often  denounced,  for  the  purpose  of  calling  the  yeas  and 
nays  and  making  dilatory  motions”  to  postpone  action 
until  the  press  of  other  business  should  compel  the  Senate 
to  set  the  resolution  aside.  Sumner’s  answer  was  that  he 
would  employ  against  the  measure  every  instrument  he 
could  find  “in  the  arsenal  of  parliamentary  warfare.” 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MOMENT 


405 


With  the  aid  of  the  Democrats,  the  Vindictives  carried  the 
day.  The  resolution  was  ‘‘dispensed  with.”® 

As  events  turned  out  it  was  a catastrophe.  But  this 
was  not  apparent  at  the  time.  Though  Lincoln  had  been 
beaten  for  the  moment,  the  opposition  was  made  up  of  so 
many  and  such  irreconcilable  elements  that  as  long  as  he 
could  hold  together  his  own  following,  there  was  no  rea- 
son to  suppose  he  would  not  in  the  long  run  prevail.  He 
was  never  in  a firmer,  more  self-contained  mood  than  on 
the  last  night  of  the  session.^®  Again,  as  on  that  memor- 
able fourth  of  July,  eight  months  before,  he  was  in  his 
room  at  the  Capitol  signing  the  last-minute  bills.  Stanton 
was  with  him.  On  receiving  a telegram  from  Grant,  the 
Secretary  handed  it  to  the  President.  Grant  reported  that 
Lee  had  proposed  a conference  for  the  purpose  of  “a  satis- 
factory adjustment  of  the  present  unhappy  difficulties  by 
means  of  a military  convention.”  Without  asking  for  the 
Secretary’s  opinion,  Lincoln  wrote  out  a reply  which  he 
directed  him  to  sign  and  despatch  immediately.  “The 
President  directs  me  to  say  that  he  wishes  you  to  have  no 
conference  with  General  Lee,  unless  it  be  for  the  capitula- 
tion of  General  Lee’s  army,  or  on  some  minor  or  purely 
military  matter.  He  instructs  me  to  say  that  you  are  not 
to  decide,  discuss,  or  confer  upon  any  political  questions, 
such  questions  the  President  holds  in  his  own  hands  and 
will  submit  them  to  no  military  conferences  or  conventions. 
Meanwhile,  you  are  to  press  to  the  utmost  your  military 
advantages. 

In  the  second  inauguraP^  delivered  the  next  day,  there 
is  not  the  faintest  shadow  of  anxiety.  It  breathes  a lofty 
confidence  as  if  his  soul  was  gazing  meditatively  down- 


4o6 


LINCOLN 


ward  upon  life,  and  upon  his  own  work,  from  a secure 
height.  The  world  has  shown  a sound  instinct  in  fixing 
upon  one  expression,  ‘Vith  malice  toward  none,  with 
charity  for  all,”  as  the  key-note  of  the  final  Lincoln.  These 
words  form  the  opening  line  of  that  paragraph  of  unsur- 
passable prose  in  which  the  second  inaugural  culminates: 

“With  malice  toward  none;  with  charity  for  all;  with 
firmness  in  the  right  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let  us 
strive  on  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in;  to  bind  up  the 
nation’s  wounds ; to  care  for  him  who  shall  have  borne  the 
battle,  and  for  his  widow  and  his  orphan — to  do  all  which 
may  achieve  and  cherish  a just  and  lasting  peace  among 
ourselves,  and  with  all  nations.” 


XXXVI 


PREPARING  A DIFFERENT  WAR 

During  the  five  weeks  which  remained  to  Lincoln  on 
ea'rth,  the  army  was  his  most  obvious  concern.  He  watched 
eagerly  the  closing  of  the  enormous  trap  that  had  been 
slowly  built  up  surrounding  Lee.  Toward  the  end  of 
March  he  went  to  the  front,  and  for  two  weeks  had  his 
quarters  on  a steamer  at  City  Point.  It  was  during  Lin- 
coln’s visit  that  Sherman  came  up  from  North  Carolina 
for  his  flying  conference  with  Grant,  in  which  the  Presi- 
dent took  part.  Lincoln  was  at  City  Point  when  Peters- 
burg fell.  Early  on  the  morning  of  April  third,  he  joined 
Grant  who  gives  a strange  glimpse  in  his  Memoirs  of 
their  meeting  in  the  deserted  city  which  so  recently  had 
been  the  last  bulwark  of  the  Confederacy.^  The  same 
day,  Richmond  fell.  Lincoln  had  returned  to  City  Point, 
and  on  the  following  day  when  confusion  reigned  in  the 
burning  city,  he  walked  through  its  streets  attended  only 
by  a few  sailors  and  by  four  friends.  He  visited  Libby 
Prison;  and  when  a member  of  his  party  said  that  Davis 
ought  to  be  hanged,  Lincoln  replied,  “Judge  not  that  ye  be 
not  judged.”^  His  deepest  thoughts,  however,  were  not 
with  the  army.  The  time  was  at  hand  when  his  states- 
manship was  to  be  put  to  its  most  severe  test.  He  had  not 
forgotten  the  anxious  lesson  of  that  success  of  the  Vin- 
dictives  in  balking  momentarily  the  recognition  of  Louisi- 
ana. It  was  war  to  the  knife  between  him  and  them. 

407 


4o8 


LINCOLN 


Could  he  reconstruct  the  Union  in  a wise  and  merciful 
fashion  despite  their  desperate  opposition? 

He  had  some  strong  cards  in  his  hand.  First  of  all,  he 
had  time.  Congress  was  not  in  session.  He  had  eight 
months  in  which  to  press  forward  his  own  plans.  If,  when 
Congress  assembled  the  following  December,  it  should  be 
confronted  by  a group  of  reconciled  Southern  States,  would 
it  venture  to  refuse  them  recognition?  No  one  could  have 
any  illusions  as  to  what  the  Vindictives  would  try  to  do. 
They  would  continue  the  struggle  they  had  begun  over 
Louisiana;  and  if  their  power  permitted,  they  would  rouse 
the  nation  to  join  battle  with  the  President  on  that  old 
issue  of  the  war  powers,  of  the  dictatorship. 

But  in  Lincoln's  hand  there  were  four  other  cards,  all 
of  which  Wade  and  Chandler  would  find  it  hard  to  match. 
He  had  the  army.  In  the  last  election  the*  army  had  voted 
for  him  enthusiastically.  And  the  army  was  free  from 
the  spirit  of  revenge,  the  spirit  which  Chandler  built  upon. 
He  had  the  plain  people,  the  great  mass  whom  the  machine 
politicians  had  failed  to  judge  correctly  in  the  August  Con- 
spiracy. Pretty  generally,  he  had  the  Intellectuals.  Lastly, 
he  had — or  with  skilful  generalship  he  could  have — the 
Abolitionists. 

The  Thirteenth  Amendment  was  not  yet  adopted.  The 
question  had  been  raised,  did  it  require  three-fourths  of 
all  the  States  for  its  adoption,  or  only  three-fourths  of 
those  that  were  ranked  as  not  in  rebellion.  Here  was  the 
issue  by  means  of  which  the  Abolitionists  might  all  be 
brought  into  line.  It  was  by  no  means  certain  that  every 
Northern  State  would  vote  for  the  amendment.  In  the 
smaller  group  of  States,  there  was  a chance  that  the 
amendment  might  fail.  But  if  it  were  submitted  to  the 


PREPARING  A DIFFERENT  WAR 


409 


larger  group;  and  if  every  Reconstructed  State,  before 
Congress  met,  should  adopt  the  amendment;  and  if  it  was 
apparent  that  with  these  Southern  adoptions  the  amend- 
ment must  prevail,  all  the  great  power  of  the  anti-slavery 
sentiment  would  be  thrown  on  the  side  of  the  President  in 
favor  of  recognizing  the  new  State  governments  and  against 
the  Vindictives.  Lincoln  held  a hand  of  trumps.  Confi- 
dently, but  not  rashly,  he  looked  forward  to  his  peaceful 
war  with  the  Vindictives. 

They  were  enemies  not  to  be  despised.  To  begin  with, 
they  were  experienced  machine  politicians;  they  had  con- 
trol of  well-organized  political  rings.  They  were  past 
masters  of  the  art  of  working  up  popular  animosities. 
And  they  were  going  to  use  this  art  in  that  dangerous 
moment  of  reaction  which  invariably  follows  the  heroic 
tension  of  a great  war.  The  alignment  in  the  Senate  re- 
vealed by  the  Louisiana  battle  had  also  a significance. 
The  fact  that  Sumner,  who  was  not  quite  one  of  them, 
became  their  general  on  that  occasion,  was  something  to 
remember.  They  had  made  or  thought  they  had  made 
other  powerful  allies.  The  Vice  President,  Andrew  John- 
son— the  new  president  of  the  Senate — appeared  at  this 
time  to  be  cheek  by  jowl  with  the  fiercest  Vindictives  of 
them  all.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  when  the 
thought  first  occurred  to  them:  “If  anything  should  hap- 
pen to  Lincoln,  his  successor  would  be  one  of  us !” 

The  ninth  of  April  arrived  and  the  news  of  Lee’s  sur- 
render. 

“The  popular  excitement  over  the  victory  was  such 
that  on  Monday,  the  tenth,  crowds  gathered  before  the 
Executive  Mansion  several  times  during  the  day  and  called 
out  the  President  for  speeches.  Twice  he  responded  by 


410 


LINCOLN 


coming  to  the  window  and  saying  a few  words  which, 
however,  indicated  that  his  mind  was  more  occupied  with 
work  than  with  exuberant  rejoicing.  As  briefly  as  he 
could  he  excused  himself,  but  promised  that  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening  for  which  a formal  demonstration  was  be- 
ing arranged,  he  would  be  prepared  to  say  something.”^ 
The  paper  which  he  read  to  the  crowd  that  thronged 
the  grounds  of  the  White  House  on  the  night  of  April 
eleventh,  was  his  last  public  utterance.  It  was  also  one 
of  his  most  remarkable  ones.  In  a way,  it  was  his  declara- 
tion of  war  against  the  Vindictives.'*  It  is  the  final  state- 
ment of  a policy  toward  helpless  opponents — he  refused 
to  call  them  enemies — which  among  the  conquerors  of  his- 
tory is  hardly,  if  at  all,  to  be  paralleled.^ 

“By  these  recent  successes  the  reinauguration  of  the 
national  authority — reconstruction — which  has  had  a large 
share  of  thought  from  the  first,  is  pressed  more  closely 
Upon  our  attention.  It  is  fraught  with  great  difficulty. 
Unlike  a case  of  war  between  independent  nations,  there 
is  no  authorized  organ  for  us  to  treat  with — no  one  man 
has  authority  to  give  up  the  rebellion  for  any  other 
man.  We  simply  must  begin  with,  and  mould  from,  dis- 
organized and  discordant  elements.  Nor  is  it  a small  ad- 
ditional embarrassment  that  we,  the  loyal  people,  differ 
among  ourselves  as  to  the  mode,  manner  and  measure  of 
reconstruction.  As  a general  rule,  I abstain  from  reading 
the  reports  of  attacks  upon  myself,  wishing  not  to  be  pro- 
voked by  that  to  which  I can  not  properly  offer  an  answer. 
In  spite  of  this  precaution,  however,  it  comes  to  my 
knowledge  that  I am  much  censured  for  some  supposed 
agency  in  setting  up  and  seeking  to  sustain  the  new  State 
government  of  Louisiana.” 


PREPARING  A DIFFERENT  WAR 


41 1 

He  reviewed  in  full  the  history  of  the  Louisiana  ex- 
periment From  that  he  passed  to  the  theories  put  forth 
by  some  of  his  enemies  with  regard  to  the  constitutional 
status  of  the  Seceded  States.  His  own  theory  that  the 
States  never  had  been  out  of  the  Union  because  constitu- 
tionally they  could  not  go  out,  that  their  governmental 
functions  had  merely  been  temporarily  interrupted;  this 
theory  had  always  been  roundly  derided  by  the  Vindictives 
and  even  by  a few  wdio  were  not  Vindictives.  Sumner 
had  preached  the  idea  that  the  Southern  States  by  attempt- 
ing to  secede  had  committed  '‘State  suicide”  and  should 
now  be  treated  as  Territories.  Stevens  and  the  Vindictives 
generally,  while  avoiding  Sumner’s  subtlety,  called  them 
“conquered  provinces.”  And  all  these  wanted  to  take 
them  from  under  the  protection  of  the  President  and  place 
them  helpless  at  the  feet  of  Congress.  To  prevent  this  is 
the  purpose  that  shines  between  the  lines  in  the  latter  part 
of  Lincoln’s  valedictory: 

“We  all  agree  that  the  Seceded  States,  so  called,  are 
out  of  their  proper  practical  relation  with  the  Union,  and 
that  the  sole  object  of  the  government,  civil  and  military, 
in  regard  to  those  States,  is  to  again  get  them  into  that 
proper  practical  relation.  I believe  that  it  is  not  only  pos- 
sible, but  in  fact  easier,  to  do  this  without  deciding  or 
even  considering  whether  these  States  have  ever  been  out 
of  the  Union,  than  with  it.  Finding  themselves  safely  at 
home,  it  would  be  utterly  immaterial  whether  they  had 
ever  been  abroad.  Let  us  all  join  in  doing  the  acts  neces- 
sary to  restoring  the  proper  practical  relations  between 
these  States  and  the  Union,  and  each  forever  after  inno- 
cently indulge  his  own  opinion  whether  in  doing  the  acts 
he  brought  the  States  from  without  into  the  Union,  or  only 


412 


LINCOLN 


gave  them  proper  assistance,  they  never  having  been  out 
of  it.  The  amount  of  constituency,  so  to  speak,  on  which 
the  new  Louisiana  government  rests  would  be  more  sat- 
isfactory to  all  if  it  contained  50,000  or  30,000,  or  even 
20,000  instead  of  only  about  12,000,  as  it  does.  It  is  also 
unsatisfactory  to  some  that  the  elective  franchise  is  not 
given  to  the  colored  man.  I would  myself  prefer  that  it 
were  now  conferred  on  the  very  intelligent,  and  on  those 
who  served  our  cause  as  soldiers. 

“Still,  the  question  is  not  whether  the  Louisiana  gov- 
ernment, as  it  stands,  is  quite  all  that  is  desirable.  The 
question  is,  will  it  be  wiser  to  take  it  as  it  is  and  help  to 
improve  it,  or  to  reject  and  disperse  it?  Can  Louisiana 
be  brought  into  proper  practical  relation  with  the  Union 
sooner  by  sustaining  or  by  discarding  her  new  State  gov- 
ernment? Some  twelve  thousand  voters  in  the  heretofore 
slave  State  of  Louisiana  have  sworn  allegiance  to  the 
Union,  assumed  to  be  the  rightful  political  power  of  the 
State,  held  elections,  organized  a State  government,  adopted 
a free  State  constitution,  giving  the  benefit  of  public 
schools  equally  to  black  and  white  and  empowering  the 
Legislature  to  confer  the  elective  franchise  upon  the  col- 
ored man.  Their  Legislature  has  already  voted  to  ratify 
the  constitutional  amendment  recently  passed  by  Con- 
gress abolishing  slavery  throughout  the  nation.  These 
•12,000  persons  are  thus  fully  committed  to  the  Union  and 
to  perpetual  freedom  in  the  State — committed  to  the  very 
things,  and  nearly  all  the  things,  the  nation  wants — and 
they  ask  the  nation’s  recognition  and  its  assistance  to  make 
good  their  committal. 

“Now,  if  we  reject  and  spurn  them,  we  do  our  utmost 
to  disorganize  and  disperse  them.  We,  in  effect,  say  to 


PREPARING  A DIFFERENT  WAR 


413 


the  white  man:  You  are  worthless  or  worse;  we  will  nei- 
ther help  you  nor  be  helped  by  you.  To  the  blacks  we  say : 
This  cup  of  liberty  which  these,  your  old  masters,  hold  to 
your  lips  we  will  dash  from  you  and  leave  you  to  the 
cha.nces  of  gathering  the  spilled  and  scattered  contents  in 
some  vague  and  undefined  when,  where  and  how.  If  this 
course,  discouraging  and  paralyzing  both  white  and  black, 
has  any  tendency  to  bring  Louisiana  into  proper  practical 
relations  with  the  Union,  I have  so  far  been  unable  to  per- 
ceive it.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  recognize  and  sustain  the 
new  government  of  Louisiana,  the  converse  of  all  this  is 
made  true.  We  encourage  the  hearts  and  nerve  the  arms 
of  12,000  to  adhere  to  their  work,  and  argue  for  it,  and 
proselyte  for  it,  and  fight  for  it,  and  feed  it,  and  grow  it, 
and  ripen  it  to  a complete  success.  The  colored  man,  too, 
in  seeing  all  united  for  him,  is  inspired  with  vigilance  and 
energy,  and  daring,  to  the  same  end.  Grant  that  he  de- 
sires the  elective  franchise,  will  he  not  attain  it  sooner  by 
saving  the  already  advanced  steps  toward  it  than  by  run- 
ning backward  over  them?  Concede  that  the  new  govern- 
ment of  Louisiana  is  only  to  what  it  should  be  as  the  egg  is 
to  the  fowl,  we  shall  sooner  have  the  fowl  by  hatching  the 
egg  than  by  smashing  it. 

‘‘Again,  if  we  reject  Louisiana,  we  also  reject  one  vote 
in  favor  of  the  proposed  amendment  to  the  national  Con- 
stitution. To  meet  this  proposition  it  has  been  argued 
that  no  more  than  three-fourths  of  those  States  which 
have  not  attempted  secession  are  necessary  to  validly  ratify 
the  amendment.  I do  not  commit  myself  against  this 
further  than  to  say  that  such  a ratification  would  be  ques- 
tionable, and  sure  to  be  persistently  questioned,  while  a 
ratification  by  three-fourths  of  all  the  States  would  be  un- 


414 


LINCOLN 


questioned  and  unquestionable.  I repeat  the  question: 
Can  Louisiana  be  brought  into  proper  practical  relation 
with  the  Union  sooner  by  sustaining  or  by  discarding  her 
new  State  government?  What  has  been  said  of  Louisiana 
will  apply  generally  to  other  States.  And  yet  so  great  pe- 
culiarities pertain  to  each  State,  and  such  important  and 
sudden  changes  occur  in  the  same  State,  and  withal  so  new 
and  unprecedented  is  the  whole  case  that  no  exclusive  and 
inflexible  plan  can  safely  be  prescribed  as  to  details  and  col- 
laterals. Such  exclusive  and  inflexible  plan  would  surely 
become  a new  entanglement.  Important  principles  may 
and  must  be  inflexible.  In  the  present  situation,  as  the 
phrase  goes,  it  may  be  my  duty  to  make  some  new  an- 
nouncement to  the  people  of  the  South.  I am  considering 
and  shall  not  fail  to  act  when  satisfied  that  action  will  be 
proper.’’ 


XXXVII 


FATE  INTERPOSES 

There  was  an  early  spring  on  the  Potomac  in  1865. 
While  April  was  still  young,  the  Judas  trees  became  spheres 
of  purply,  pinkish  bloom.  The  Washington  parks  grew 
softly  bright  as  the  lilacs  opened.  Pendulous  willows 
veiled  with  green  laces  afloat  in  air  the  changing  brown 
that  was  winter’s  final  shadow;  in  the  Virginia  woods  the 
white  blossoms  of  the  dogwood  seemed  to  float  and  flicker 
among  the  windy  trees  like  enormous  flocks  of  alighting 
butterflies.  And  over  head  such  a glitter  of  turquoise 
blue!  As  lovely  in  a different  way  as  on  that  fateful  Sun- 
day morning  when  Russell  drove  through  the  same  woods 
toward  Bull  Run  so  long,  long  ago.  Such  was  the  back- 
ground of  the  last  few  days  of  Lincoln’s  life. 

Though  tranquil,  his  thoughts  dwelt  much  on  death. 
While  at  City  Point,  he  drove  one  day  with  Mrs.  Lincoln 
along  the  banks  of  the  James.  They  passed  a country 
graveyard.  'Tt  was  a retired  place,”  said  Mrs.  Lincoln 
long  afterward,  ‘'shaded  by  trees,  and  early  spring  flowers 
were  opening  on  nearly  every  grave.  It  was  so  quiet  and 
attractive  that  we  stopped  the  carriage  and  walked  through 
it.  Mr.  Lincoln  seemed  thoughtful  and  impressed.  He 
said : ‘Mary,  you  are  younger  than  I ; you  will  survive  me. 
When  I am  gone,  lay  my  remains  in  some  quiet  place  like 
this.’ 


.415 


4i6 


LINCOLN 


His  mood  underwent  a mysterious  change.  It  was 
serene  and  yet  charged  with  a peculiar  grave  loftiness  not 
quite  like  any  phase  of  him  his  friends  had  known  hitherto. 
As  always,  his  thoughts  turned  for  their  reflection  to 
Shakespeare.  Sumner  who  was  one  of  the  party  at  City 
Point,  was  deeply  impressed  by  his  reading  aloud,  a few 
days  before  his  death,  that  passage  in  Macbeth  which 
describes  the  ultimate  security  of  Duncan  where  nothing 
evil  ‘‘can  touch  him  farther.”^ 

There  was  something  a little  startling,  as  if  it  were 
not  quite  of  this  world,  in  the  tender  lightness  that  seemed 
to  come  into  his  heart.  “His  whole  appearance,  poise  and 
bearing,’’  says  one  of  his  observers,  “had  marvelously 
changed.  He  was,  in  fact,  transfigured.  That  indescrib- 
able sadness  which  had  previously  seemed  to  be  an  adaman- 
tine element  of  his  very  being,  had  been  suddenly  changed 
for  an  equally  indescribable  expression  of  serene  joy,  as  if 
conscious  that  the  great  purpose  of  his  life  had  been 
achieved.”^ 

It  was  as  if  the  seer  in  the  trance  had  finally  passed  be- 
yond his  trance;  and  had  faced  smiling  toward  his  earthly 
comrades,  imagining  he  was  to  return  to  them;  unaware 
that  somehow  his  emergence  was  not  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  nature;  that  in  it  was  an  accent  of  the  inexplicable, 
something  which  the  others  caught  and  at  which  they 
trembled;  though  they  knew  not  why.  And  he,  so  beauti- 
fully at  peace,  and  yet  thrilled  as  never  before  by  the  vision 
of  the  murdered  Duncan  at  the  end  of  life’s  fitful  fever — 
what  was  his  real  feeling,  his  real  vision  of  himself?  Was 
it  something  of  what  the  great  modern  poet  strove  so 
bravely  to  express — 


FATE  INTERPOSES 


417 


“And  yet 

Dauntless  the  slughorn  to  my  lips  I set, 

And  blew : Childe  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  earned* 

Shortly  before  the  end,  he  had  a strange  dream. 
Though  he  spoke  of  it  almost  with  levity,  it  would  not 
leave  his  thoughts.  He  dreamed  he  was  wandering  through 
the  White  House  at  night;  all  the  rooms  were  brilliantly 
lighted;  but  they  were  empty.  However,  through  that  un- 
real solitude  floated  a sound  of  weeping.  When  he  came  to 
the  East  Room,  it  was  explained;  there  was  a catafalque, 
the  pomp  of  a military  funeral,  crowds  of  people  in  tears; 
and  a voice  said  to  him,  “The  President  has  been  assas- 
sinated.’’ 

He  told  this  dream  to  Lamon  and  to  Mrs.  Lincoln.  He 
added  that  after  it  had  occurred,  “the  first  time  I opened 
the  Bible,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  it  was  at  the  twenty- 
eighth  chapter  of  Genesis  which  relates  the  wonderful 
dream  Jacob  had.  I turned  to  other  passages  and  seemed 
to  encounter  a dream  or  a vision  wherever  I looked.  I 
kept  on  turning  the  leaves  of  the  Old  Book,  and  everywhere 
my  eye  fell  upon  passages  recording  matters  strangely  in 
keeping  with  my  own  thoughts — supernatural  visitations, 
dreams,  visions,  etc.” 

But  when  Lamon  seized  upon  this  as  text  for  his  re- 
current sermon  on  precautions  against  assassination,  Lin- 
coln turned  the  matter  into  a joke.  He  did  not  appear  to 
interpret  the  dream  as  foreshadowing  his  own  death.  He 
called  Lamon’s  alarm  “downright  foolishness.”^ 

Another  dream  in  the  last  night  of  his  life  was  a con- 
solation. He  narrated  it  to  the  Cabinet  when  they  met 
on  April  fourteenth,  which  happened  to  be  Good  Friday. 
There  was  some  anxiety  with  regard  to  Sherman’s  move- 


4i8 


LINCOLN 


ments  in  North  Carolina.  Lincoln  bade  the  Cabinet  set 
their  minds  at  rest.  His  dream  of  the  night  before  was 
one  that  he  had  often  had.  It  was  a presage  of  great 
events.  In  this  dream  he  saw  himself  “in  a singular  and 
indescribable  vessel,  but  always  the  same  . . . moving 

with  great  rapidity  toward  a dark  and  indefinite  shore.” 
This  dream  had  preceded  all  the  great  events  of  the  war. 
He  believed  it  was  a good  omen.^ 

At  this  last  Cabinet  meeting,  he  talked  freely  of  the 
one  matter  which  in  his  mind  overshadowed  all  others. 
He  urged  his  Ministers  to  put  aside  all  thoughts  of  hatred 
and  revenge.  “He  hoped  there  would  be  no  persecution, 
no  bloody  work,  after  the  war  was  over.  None  need  ex- 
pect him  to  take  any  part  in  hanging  or  killing  these  men, 
even  the  worst  of  them.  ‘Frighten  them  out  of  the  country, 
let  down  the  bars,  scare  them  off,’  said  he,  throwing  up 
his  hands  as  if  scaring  sheep.  Enough  lives  have  been 
sacrificed.  We  must  extinguish  our  resentment  if  we  ex- 
pect harmony  and  union.  There  was  too  much  desire  on 
the  part  of  our  very  good  friends  to  be  masters,  to  inter- 
fere and  dictate  to  those  States,  to  treat  the  people  not  as 
fellow  citizens;  there  was  too  little  respect  for  their  rights. 
He  didn’t  sympathize  in  these  feelings.”® 

There  was  a touch  of  irony  in  his  phase  “our  very  good 
friends.”  Before  the  end  of  the  next  day,  the  men  he  had 
in  mind,  the  inner  group  of  the  relentless  Vindictives, 
were  to  meet  in  council,  scarcely  able  to  conceal  their  in- 
spiring conviction  that  Providence  had  intervened,  had 
judged  between  him  and  them.’^  And  that  allusion  to  the 
“rights”  of  the  vanquished!  How  abominable  it  was  in 
the  ears  of  the  grim  Chandler,  the  inexorable  Wade. 
Desperate  these  men  and  their  followers  were  on  the  four- 


FATE  INTERPOSES 


419 


teenth  of  April,  but  defiant.  To  the  full  measure  of  their 
power  they  would  fight  the  President  to  the  last  ditch. 
And  always  in  their  minds,  the  tormenting  thought — if 
only  positions  could  be  reversed,  if  only  Johnson,  whom 
they  believed  to  be  one  of  them  at  heart,  were  in  the  first 
instead  of  the  second  place! 

While  these  unsparing  sons  of  thunder  were  growling 
among  themselves,  the  Hons  that  were  being  cheated  of 
their  prey,  Lincoln  was  putting  his  merciful  temper  into  a 
playful  form.  General  Creswell  applied  to  him  for  pardon 
for  an  old  friend  of  his  who  had  joined  the  Confederate 
Army. 

“Creswell,”  said  Lincoln,  “you  make  me  think  of  a lot 
of  young  folks  who  once  started  out  Maying.  To  reach 
their  destination,  they  had  to  cross  a shallow  stream  and 
did  so  by  means  of  an  old  flat  boat.  When  the  time  came 
to  return,  they  found  to  their  dismay  that  the  old  scow 
had  disappeared.  They  were  in  sore  trouble  and  thought 
over  all  manner  of  devices  for  getting  over  the  water,  but 
without  avail.  After  a time,  one  of  the  boys  proposed 
that  each  fellow  should  pick  up  the  girl  he  liked  best  and 
wade  over  with  her.  The  masterly  proposition  was  car- 
ried out  until  all  that  were  left  upon  the  island  was  a little 
short  chap  and  a great,  long,  gothic-built,  elderly  lady. 
Now,  Creswell,  you  are  trying  to  leave  me  in  the  same 
predicament.  Abu  fellows  are  all  getting  your  own  friends 
out  of  this  scrape,  and  you  will  succeed  in  carrying  off 
one  after  another  until  nobody  but  Jeff  Davis  and  myself 
will  be  left  on  the  island,  and  then  I won’t  know  what  to 
do.  How  should  I feel?  How  should  I look  lugging 
him  over?  I guess  the  way  to  avoid  such  an  embarrass- 
ing situation  is  to  let  all  out  at  once.”® 


420 


LINCOLN 


The  President  refused,  this  day,  to  open  his  doors  to 
the  throng  of  visitors  that  sought  admission.  His  eldest 
son,  Robert,  an  officer  in  Grant’s  army,  had  returned  from 
the  front  unharmed.  Lincoln  wished  to  reserve  the  day 
for  his  family  and  intimate  friends.  In  the  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Lincoln  asked  him  if  he  cared  to  have  company  on 
their  usual  drive.  ‘‘No,  Mary,”  said  he,  “I  prefer  that  we 
ride  by  ourselves  to-day.”^  They  took  a long  drive.  His 
mood,  as  it  had  been  all  day,  was  singularly  happy  and 
tender.^  ^ He  talked  much  of  the  past  and  the  future. 
It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Lincoln  that  he  never  had  appeared  hap- 
pier than  during  the  drive.  He  referred  to  past  sorrows, 
to  the  anxieties  of  the  war,  to  Willie’s  death,  and  spoke  of 
the  necessity  to  be  cheerful  and  happy  in  the  days  to  come. 
As  Mrs.  Lincoln  remembered  his  words:  “We  have  had 
a hard  time  since  we  came  to  Washington;  but  the  war  is 
over,  and  with  God’s  blessings,  we  may  hope  for  four 
years  of  peace  and  happiness,  and  then  we  will  go  back  to 
Illinois  and  pass  the  rest  of  our  lives  in  quiet.  We  have 
laid  by  some  money,  and  during  this  time,  we  will  save  up 
more,  but  shall  not  have  enough  to  support  us.  We  will 
go  back  to  Illinois;  I will  open  a law  office  at  Springfield 
or  Chicago  and  practise  law,  and  at  least  do  enough  to 
help  give  us  a livelihood.”^^ 

They  returned  from  their  drive  and  prepared  for  a 
theatre  party  which  had  been  fixed  for  that  night.  The 
management  of  the  Ford’s  Theatre,  where  Laura  Keene 
was  to  close  her  season  with  a benefit  performance  of  Our 
American  Cousin,  had  announced  in  the  afternoon  papers 
that  “the  President  and  his  lady”  would  attend.  The 
President’s  box  had  been  draped  with  flags.  The  rest  is 
a twice  told  tale — a thousandth  told  tale. 


FATE  INTERPOSES 


'^21 

An  actor,  very  handsome,  a Byronic  sort,  both  in  beauty 
and  temperament,  with  a dash  perhaps  of  insanity,  John 
Wilkes  Booth,  had  long  meditated  killing  the  President. 
A violent  secessionist,  his  morbid  imagination  had  made 
of  Lincoln  another  Caesar.  The  occasion  called  for  a 
Brutus.  While  Lincoln  was  planning  his  peaceful  war 
with  the  Vindictives,  scheming  how  to  keep  them  from 
grinding  the  prostrate  South  beneath  their  heels,  devising 
modes  of  restoring  happiness  to  the  conquered  region, 
Booth,  at  an  obscure  boarding-house  in  Washington,  was 
gathering  about  him  a band  of  adventurers,  some  of  whom 
at  least,  like  himself,  were  unbalanced.  They  meditated  a 
general  assassination  of  the  Cabinet.  The  unexpected 
theatre  party  on  the  fourteenth  gave  Booth  a sudden  oppor- 
tunity. He  knew  every  passage  of  Ford’s  Theatre.  He 
knew,  also,  that  Lincoln  seldom  surrounded  himself  with 
guards.  During  the  afternoon,  he  made  his  way  unob- 
served into  the  theatre  and  bored  a hole  in  the  door  of  the 
presidential  box,  so  that  he  might  fire  through  it  should 
there  be  any  difficulty  in  getting  the  door  open. 

About  ten  o’clock  that  night,  the  audience  was  laugh- 
ing at  the  absurd  play;  the  President’s  party  were  as  much 
amused  as  any.  Suddenly,  there  was  a pistol  shot.  A 
moment  more  and  a woman’s  voice  rang  out  in  a sharp 
cry.  An  instant  sense  of  disaster  brought  the  audience 
startled  to  their  feet.  Two  men  were  glimpsed  struggling 
toward  the  front  of  the  President’s  box.  One  broke  away, 
leaped  down  on  to  the  stage,  flourished  a knife  and  shouted, 
'"Sic  semper  tyrannise  Then  he  vanished  through  the 
flies.  It  was  Booth,  whose  plans  had  been  completely  suc- 
cessful. He  had  made  his  way  without  interruption  to 
within  a few  feet  of  Lincoln.  At  point-blank  distance,  he 


422 


LINCOLN 


had  shot  him  from  behind,  through  the  head.  In  the  con- 
fusion which  ensued,  he  escaped  from  the  theatre;  fled 
from  the  city;  was  pursued;  and  was  himself  shot  and 
killed  a few  days  later. 

The  bullet  of  the  assassin  had  entered  the  brain,  caus- 
ing instant  unconsciousness.  The  dying  President  was  re- 
moved to  a house  on  Tenth  Street,  No.  453,  where  he  was 
laid  on  a bed  in  a small  room  at  the  rear  of  the  hall  on 
the  ground  floor.^*-^ 

Swift  panic  took  possession  of  the  city.  “A  crowd  of 
people  rushed  instinctively  to  the  White  House,  and  burst- 
ing through  the  doors,  shouted  the  dreadful  news  to  Robert 
Lincoln  and  Major  Hay  who  sat  gossiping  in  an  upper 
room.  . . . They  ran  down-stairs.  Finding  a car- 

riage at  the  door,  they  entered  it  and  drove  to  Tenth 
Street.”i3 

To  right  and  left  eddied  whirls  of  excited  figures,  men 
and  women  questioning,  threatening,  crying  out  for  venge- 
ance. Overhead  amid  driving  clouds,  the  moon,  through 
successive  mantlings  of  darkness,  broke  periodically  into 
sudden  blazes  of  light;  among  the  startled  people  below, 
raced  a witches’  dance  of  the  rapidly  changing  shadows. 

Lincoln  did  not  regain  consciousness.  About  dawn 
his  pulse  began  to  fail.  A little  later,  ‘"a  look  of  unspeak- 
able peace  came  over  his  worn  features” and  at  twenty- 
two  minutes  after  seven  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth 
of  April,  he  died. 


THE  END 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


It  is  said  that  a complete  bibliography  of  Lincoln  would  include 
at  least  five  thousand  titles.  Therefore,  any  limited  bibliography  must 
appear  more  or  less  arbitrary.  The  following  is  but  a minimum  list 
in  which,  with  a few  exceptions  such  as  the  inescapable  interpretative 
works  of  Mr.  Rhodes  'and  of  Professor  Dunning,  practically  every- 
thing has  to  some  extent  the  character  of  a source. 

Alexander.  A Political  History  of  the  State  of  New  York.  By  De 
Alva  Stanwood  Alexander.  3 vols.  1909. 

Arnold.  History  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Overthrow  of  Slavery. 
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Baldwin.  Interview  between  President  Lincoln  and  Colonel  John  B. 
Baldwin.  1866. 

Bancroft.  Life  of  William_  H.  Seward.  By  Frederick  Bancroft.  2 
vols.  1900. 

Barnes.  Memoir  of  Thurlow  Weed.  By  Thurlow  Weed  Barnes.  1884. 
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1920. 

Bigelow.  Retrospections  of  an  Active  Life.  By  John  Bigelow.  5 vols. 
1909. 

Blaine.  Twenty  Years  of  Congress.  By  James  G.  Blaine.  2 vols. 
1884. 

Botts.  The  Great  Rebellion.  By  John  Minor  Botts.  1866. 

Boutwell.  Reminiscences  of  Sixty  Years  in  Public  Affairs.  By  George 
S.  Boutwell.  2 vols.  1902. 

Bradford.  Union  Portraits.  By  Gamaliel  Bradford.  1916. 

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bune. 1880. 

Chapman.  Latest  Light  on  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Ervin  Chapman. 
1917. 

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425 


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Gilmore.  Personal  Recollections  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Civil 
War.  By  James  R.  Gilmore.  1899. 

Gilmore,  Atlantic.  A Suppressed  Chapter  of  History.  By  James  R. 
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Gore.  The  Boyhood  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  J.  Rogers  Gore.  1921. 

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427 


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Merriam.  Life  and  Times  of  Samuel  Bowles.  By  G.  S.  Merriam.  2 
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Raymond.  Journal  of  Henry  J.  Raymond.  Edited  by  Henry  W.  Ray- 
mond. Scribner’s  Magazine.  1879-1880. 

Recollections.  Recollections  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Ward  Hill 
Laimon.  1911. 

Reminiscences.  Reminiscences  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  by  Distinguished 
Men  of  his  Time.  Edited  by  Allen  Thorndyke  Rice.  1886. 
Report  of  the  Joint  Committee  on  Reconstruction,  first  session,  Thirty- 
Ninth  Congress. 

Rhodes.  History  of  the  United  States  from  the  Compromise  of  1850. 

By  James  Ford  Rhodes.  8 vols.  1893-1920. 

Riddle.  Recollections  of  War  Times.  By  A.  G.  Riddle.  1895. 
Schrugham.  The  Peaceful  Americans  of  1860.  By  Mary  Schrugham. 
1922. 

Schurz.  Speeches,'  Correspondence  and  Political  Papers  of  Carl 
Schurz.  Selected  and  edited  by  Frederick  Bancroft.  1913. 

Scott.  Memoirs  of  Lieutenant  General  Scott,  LL.D.  Written  by  him- 
self. 2 vols.  1864. 

Seward.  Works  of  William  H.  Seward.  5 vols.  1884. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


429 


Sherman.  Memoirs  of  William  T.  Sherman.  By  himself.  2 vols. 
1886. 

Sherman  Letters.  Letters  of  John  Sherman  and  W.  T.  Sherman. 

Edited  by  Rachel  Sherman  Thorndike.  1894. 

Southern  Historical  Society  Papers. 

Stephens.  Constitutional  View  of  the  Late  War  between  the  States. 

By  Alexander  H.  Stephens.  2 vols.  1868-1870. 

Stoddard.  Inside  the  White  House  in  War  Times.  By  William  O. 
Stoddard.  1890. 

Stories.  ‘'Abe''  Lincoln's  Yarns  and  Stories.  With  introduction  and 
anecdotes  by  Colonel  Alexander  K.  McClure.  1901. 

The  New  York  Sun. 

Swinton.  Campaigns  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  By  William  Swin- 
ton.  1866. 

Tarbell.  The  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Ida  M.  Tarbell.  New 
edition.  2 vols.  1917. 

Thayer.  The  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Hay.  By  William  Roscoe 
Thayer.  2 vols.  1915. 

The  New  York  Times. 

The  New  York  Tribune. 

Tyler.  Letters  and  Times  of  the  Tylers.  By  Lyon  G.  Tyler.  3 vols. 
1884-1896. 

Van  Santvoord.  A Reception  by  President  Lincoln.  By  C.  J.  Van 
Santvoord.  Century  Magazine,  Feb.,  1883. 

Villard.  Memoirs  of  Henry  Villard.  2 vols.  1902. 

Wade.  Life  of  Benjamin  F.  Wade.  By  A.  G.  Riddle.  1886. 

Warden.  Account  of  the  Private  Life  and  Public  Services  of  Salmon 
Portland  Chase.  By  R.  B.  Warden.  1874. 
y Welles.  Diary  of  Gideon  Welles.  Edited  by  J.  T.  Morse,  Jr.  3 
vols.  1911. 

White.  Life  of  Lyman  Trumbull.  By  Horace  White. 

Woodburn.  The  Life  of  Thaddeus  Stevens.  By  James  Albert  Wood- 
(burn.  1913. 


NOTES 


NOTES 


I.  The  Child  of  the  Forest. 

1.  Herndon,  1-7,  11-14;  Lamon,  8-13;  N.  and  H.,  I,  23-27.  This 
is  the  version  of  his  origin  accepted  by  Lincoln.  He  believed  that  his 
mother  was  the  illegitimate  daughter  of  a Virginia  planter  and  traced 
to  that  doubtful  source  “all  the  qualities  that  distinguished  him  from 
other  members”  of  his  immediate  family.  Herndon,  3.  His  secretaries 
are  silent  upon  the  subject.  Recently  the  story  has  been  challenged. 
Mrs.  Caroline  Hanks  Hitchcock,  who  identifies  the  Hanks  family  of 
Kentucky  with  a lost  branch  of  a New  England  family,  has  collected 
evidence  which  tends  to  show  that  Nancy  was  the  legitimate  daughter 
of  a certain  Joseph  H.  Hanks,  who  was  father  of  Joseph  the  car- 
penter, and  that  Nancy  was  not  the  niece  but  the  younger  sister  of  the 
“uncle”  who  figures  in  the  older  version,  the  man  with  whom  Thomas 
Lincoln  worked.  Nancy  and  Thomas  appear  to  have  been  cousins 
through  their  mothers.  Mrs.  Hitchcock  argues  the  case  with  care  and 
ability  in  a little  book  entitled  Nancy  Hanks.  However,  she  is  not 
altogether  sustained  by  W.  E.  Barton,  The  Paternity  of  Abraham 
Lincoln. 

Scandal  has  busied  itself  with  the  parents  of  Lincoln  in  another 
way.  It  has  been  widely  asserted  that  he  was  himself  illegitimate.  A 
variety  of  shameful  paternities  have  been  assigned  to  him,  some  pal- 
pably absurd.  The  chief  argument  of  the  lovers  of  this  scandal  was 
once  the  lack  of  a known  record  of  the  marriage  of  his  parents.  Around 
this  fact  grew  up  the  story  of  a marriage  of  concealment  with  Thomas 
Lincoln  as  the  easy-going  accomplice.  The  discovery  of  the  marriage 
record  fixing  the  date  and  demonstrating  that  Abraham  must  have  been 
the  second  child  gave  this  scandal  its  quietus.  N.  and  H.,  I,  23-24; 
Hanks,  59-67;  Herndon,  5-6;  Lincoln  and  Herndon,  321.  The  last 
important  book  on  the  subject  is  Barton,  The  Paternity  of  Abraham 
Lincoln. 

2.  N.  and  H.,  1-13. 

3.  Lamon,  13 ; N.  and  H.,  I,  25. 

4.  N.  and  H.,  I,  25. 

5.  Gore,  221-225. 

6.  Herndon,  15. 

7.  Gore,  66,  70-74,  79,  83-84,  116,  151-154,  204,  226-230,  for  all  this 
group  of  anecdotes. 

The  evidence  with  regard  to  all  the  early  part  of  Lincoln’s  life  is 
peculiar  in  this,  that  it  is  reminiscence  not  written  down  until  the  sub- 

433 


434 


NOTES 


ject  had  become  famous.  Dogmatic  certainty  with  regard  to  the  de- 
tails is  scarcely  possible.  The  best  one  can  do  in  weighing  any  of  the 
versions  of  his  early  days  is  to  inquire  closely  as  to  whether  all  its 
parts  hang  naturally  together,  whether  they  really  cohere.  There  is  a 
body  of  anecdotes  told  by  an  old  mountaineer,  Austin  Gollaher,  who 
knew  Lincoln  as  a boy,  and  these  have  been  collected  and  recently  put 
into  print.  Of  course,  they  are  not  “documented”  evidence.  Some  stu- 
dents are  for  brushing  them  aside.  But  there  is  one  important  argu- 
ment in  their  favor.  They  are  coherent;  the  boy  they  describe  is  a 
real  person  and  his  personality  is  sustained.  If  he  is  a fiction  and 
not  a memory,  the  old  mountaineer  was  a literary  artist — far  more  the 
artist  than  one  finds  it  easy  to  believe. 

8.  Gore,  84-95 ; Lamon,  16 ; Herndon,  16. 

9.  Gore,  181-182,  296,  303-316;  Lamon,  19-20;  N.  and  H.,  I,  28-29. 

11.  The  Myterious  Youth. 

1.  N.  and  H.,  I,  32-34. 

2.  Lamon,  33-38,  51-52,  61-63;  N.  and  H.,  I,  34-36. 

3.  N.  and  H.,  I,  40. 

4.  Lamon,  38,  40,  55. 

5.  Reminiscences,  54,  428. 

III.  A Village  Leader. 

1.  N.  and  H.,  I,  45-46,  70-72;  Herndon,  67,  69,  72. 

2.  Lamon,  81-82 ; Herndon,  75-76. 

3.  Lincoln,  I,  1-9. 

4.  Lamon,  125-126;  Herndon,  104. 

5.  Herndon,  117-118. 

6.  N.  and  H.,  I,  109. 

7.  Stories,  94. 

8.  Herndon,  118-123. 

9.  Lamon,  159-164;  Herndon,  128-138;  Rankin,  61-95. 

10.  Lamon,  164. 

11.  Lamon,  164-165;  Rankin,  95. 

IV.  Revelations. 

1.  Riddle,  337. 

2.  Herndon,  436. 

3.  N.  and  H.,  I,  138. 

4.  Lincoln,  I,  51-52. 


NOTES 


435 


5.  McClure,  65. 

6.  Herndon,  184-185. 

7.  Lamon,  172-183;  Herndon,  143-150,  161;  Lincoln,  I,  87-92. 

8.  Gossip  has  preserved  a melodramatic  tale  with  regard  to  Lin- 
coln’s marriage.  It  describes  the  bride  to  be,  waiting,  arrayed,  in  tense 
expectation  deepening  into  alarm;  the  guests  assembled,  wondering, 
while  the  hour  appointed  passes  by  and  the  ceremony  does  not  be- 
gin; the  failure  of  the  prospective  bridegroom  to  appear;  the  scatter- 
ing of  the  company,  amazed,  their  tongues  wagging.  The  explanation 
offered  is  an  attack  of  insanity.  Herndon,  215;  Lamon,  239-242.  As 
might  be  expected  Lincoln’s  secretaries  who  see  him  always  in  a halo 
give  no  hint  of  such  an  event.  It  has  become  a controversial  scandal. 
Is  it  a fact  or  a myth?  Miss  Tarbell  made  herself  the  champion  of  the 
mythical  explanation  and  collected  a great  deal  of  evidence  that  makes 
it  hard  to  accept  the  story  as  a fact.  Tarbell,  I,  Chap.  XI.  Still  later 
a very  sane  memoirist,  Henry  B.  Rankin,  who  knew  Lincoln,  and  is 
not  at  all  an  apologist,  takes  the  same  view.  His  most  effective  argu- 
ment is  that  such  an  event  could  not  have  occurred  in  the  little  country 
town  of  Springfield  without  becoming  at  the  time  the  common  property 
of  all  the  gossips.  The  evidence  is  bewildering.  I find  myself  unable 
to  accept  the  disappointed  wedding  guests  as  established  facts,  even 
though  the  latest  student  of  Herndon  has  no  doubts.  Lincoln  and  Hern- 
don, 321-322.  But  whether  the  broken  marriage  story  is  true  or  false 
there  is  no  doubt  that  Lincoln  passed  through  a desolating  inward  ex- 
perience about  “the  fatal  first  of  January”;  that  it  was  related  to  the 
breaking  of  his  engagement;  and  that  for  a time  his  sufferings  were 
intense.  The  letters  to  Speed  are  the  sufficient  evidence.  Lincoln, 
I,  168-175;  182-189;  210-219;  238-240;  261;  267-269.  The  prompt  ex- 
planation of  insanity  may  be  cast  aside,  one  of  those  foolish  delusions 
of  shallow  people  to  whom  all  abnormal  conditions  are  of  the  same 
nature  as  all  others.  Lincoln  wrote  to  a noted  Western  physician. 
Doctor  Drake  of  Cincinnati,  with  regard  to  his  “case” — that  is,  his 
nervous  breakdown — and  Doctor  Drake  replied  but  refused  to  prescribe 
without  an  interview.  Lamon,  244. 

V.  Prosperity. 


1.  Carpenter,  304-305. 

2.  Lamon,  243,  252-269;  Herndon,  226-243,  248-251;  N.  and  H., 
200,  203-212. 

3.  A great  many  recollections  of  Lincoln  attempt  to  describe  him. 
Except  in  a large  and  general  way  most  of  them  show  that  lack  of 


436 


NOTES 


definite  visualization  which  characterizes  the  memories  of  the  careless 
observer.  His  height,  his  bony  figure,  his  awkwardness,  the  rudely 
chiseled  features,  the  mystery  in  his  eyes,  the  kindliness  of  his  ex- 
pression, these  are  the  elements  of  the  popular  portrait.  Now  and  then 
a closer  observer  has  added  a detail.  Witness  the  masterly  comment 
of  Walt  Whitman.  Herndon’s  account  of  Lincoln  speaking  has  the 
earmarks  of  accuracy.  The  attempt  by  the  portrait  painter.  Carpenter, 
to  render  him  in  words  is  quoted  later  in  this  volume.  Carpenter, 
217-218.  Unfortunately  he  was  never  painted  by  an  artist  of  great 
originality,  by  one  who  was  equal  to  his  opportunity.  My  authority 
for  the  texture  of  his  skin  is  a lady  of  unusual  closeness  of  observa- 
tion, the  late  Mrs.  M.  T.  W.  Curwen  of  Cincinnati,  who  saw  him  in 
1861  in  the  private  car  of  the  president  of  the  Indianapolis  and  Cin- 
cinnati railroad.  An  exhaustive  study  of  the  portraits  of  Lincoln  is 
in  preparation  by  Mr.  Winfred  Porter  Truesdell,  who  has  a valuable 
paper  on  the  subject  in  The  Print  Connoisseur,  for  March,  1921. 

4.  Herndon,  264. 

5.  Ibid. 

6.  Ibid.,  515. 

7.  A vital  question  to  the  biographer  of  Lincoln  is  the  credibility 
of  Herndon.  He  has  been  accused  of  capitalizing  his  relation  witl 
Lincoln  and  producing  a sensational  image  for  commercial  purposes. 
Though  his  Life  did  not  appear  until  1890  when  the  official  work  of 
Nicolay  and  Hay  was  in  print,  he  had  been  lecturing  and  correspond- 
ing upon  Lincoln  for  nearly  twenty-five  years.  The  “sensational”  first 
edition  of  his  Life  produced  a storm  of  protest.  The  book  was  prompt- 
ly recalled,  worked  over,  toned  down,  and  reissued  “expurgated”  in  1892. 

Such  biographers  as  Miss  Tarbell  appear  to  regard  Herndon  as  a 
mere  romancer.  The  well  poised  Lincoln  and  Herndon  recently  pub- 
lished by  Joseph  Fort  Newton  holds  what  I feel  compelled  to  regard  as 
a sounder  view;  namely,  that  while  Herndon  was  at  times  reckless 
and  at  times  biased,  nevertheless  he  is  in  the  main  to  be  relied  upon. 

Three  things  are  to  be  borne  in  mind : Herndon  was  a literary 
man  by  nature;  but  he  was  not  by  training  a developed  artist;  he  was 
a romantic  of  the  full  flood  of  American  romanticism  and  there  are 
traceable  in  him  the  methods  of  romantic  portraiture.  Had  he  been 
an  Elizabethan  one  can  imagine  him  laboring  hard  with  great  pride 
over  an  inferior  “Tamburlane  the  Great” — and  perhaps  not  knowing 
that  it  was  inferior.  Furthermore,  he  had  not,  before  the  storm  broke 
on  him,  any  realization  of  the  existence  in  America  of  another  school 
of  portraiture,  the  heroic-conventual,  that  could  not  understand  the 


NOTES 


437 


romantic.  If  Herndon  strengthened  as  much  as  possible  the  contrasts 
of  his  subject — such  as  the  contrast  between  the  sordidness  of  Lin- 
coln’s origin  and  the  loftiness  of  his  thought — he  felt  that  by  so  doing 
he  was  merely  rendering  his  subject  in  its  most  brilliant  aspect,  giving 
to  it  the  largest  degree  of  significance.  A third  consideration  is  Hern- 
don’s enthusiasm  for  the  agnostic  deism  that  was  rampant  in  America 
in  his  day.  Perhaps  this  causes  his  romanticism  to  slip  a cog,  to  run 
at  times  on  a side-track,  to  become  the  servant  of  his  religious  parti- 
sanship. In  three  words  the  faults  of  Herndon  are  exaggeration,  literal- 
ness and  exploitiveness. 

But  all  these  are  faults  of  degree  which  the  careful  student  can 
allow  for.  By  “checking  up”  all  the  parts  of  Herndon  that  it  is  pos- 
sible to  check  up  one  can  arrive  at  a pretty  confident  belief  that  one 
knows  how  to  divest  the  image  he  creates  of  its  occasional  unrealities. 
When  one  does  so,  the  strongest  argument  for  relying  cautiously, 
watchfully,  upon  Herndon  appears.  The  Lincoln  thus  revealed,  though 
only  a character  sketch,  is  coherent.  And  it  stands  the  test  of  com- 
parison in  detail  with  the  Lincolns  of  other,  less  romantic,  observers. 
That  is  to  say,  with  all  his  faults,  Herndon  has  the  inner  something 
that  will  enable  the  diverse  impressions  of  Lincoln,  always  threatening 
to  become  irreconcilable,  to  hang  together  and  out  of  their  very  incon- 
gruity to  invoke  a person  that  is  not  incongruous.  And  herein,  in 
this  touchstone  so  to  speak,  is  Herndon’s  value. 

8.  Herndon,  265. 

9.  Lamon,  51. 

10.  Lincoln,  I,  35-50. 

11.  The  reader  who  would  know  the  argument  against  Herndon 
(436-446)  and  Lamon  (486-502)  on  the  subject  of  Lincoln’s  early  re- 
ligion is  referred  to  The  Soul  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  by  William  Eleazer 
Barton.  It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  present  study  is  never  dogmatic 
about  Lincoln’s  religion  in  its  early  phases.  And  when  Herndon  and 
Lamon  generalize  about  his  religious  life,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
they  are  thinking  of  him  as  they  knew  him  in  Illinois.  Herndon  had 
no  familiarity  with  him  after  he  went  to  Washington.  Lamon  could 
not  have  seen  very  much  of  him — no  one  but  his  secretaries  and  his 
wife  did.  And  his  taciturnity  must  be  borne  in  mind.  Nicolay  has  re- 
corded that  he  did  not  know  what  Lincoln  believed.  Lamon,  492.  That 
Lincoln  was  vaguely  a deist  in  the  ’forties — ^so  far  as  he  had  any  the- 
ology at  all — may  be  true.  But  it  is  a rash  leap  to  a conclusion  to 
assume  that  his  state  of  mind  even  then  was  the  same  thing  as  the 
impression  it  made  on  so  practical,  hard-headed,  unpoetical  a character 


438 


NOTES 


as  Lamon;  or  on  so  combatively  imaginative  but  wholly  unmystical  a 
mind  as  Herndon’s.  Neither  of  them  seems  to  have  any  understanding 
of  those  agonies  of  spirit  through  which  Lincoln  subsequently  passed 
which  will  appear  in  the  account  of  the  year  1862.  See  also  Miss 
Nicolay,  384-386.  There  is  a multitude  of  pronouncements  on  Lincoln’s 
religion,  most  of  them  superficial. 

12.  Lincoln,  I,  206. 

13.  Nicolay,  73-74;  N.  and  H.,  I,  242;  Lamon,  275-277. 

14.  Lamon,  277-278;  Herndon,  272-273;  N.  and  H.,  I,  245-249. 

VI.  Unsatisfying  Recognition. 

1.  N.  and  H.,  I,  286-288. 

2.  Tarbell,  I,  211. 

3.  Ibid.,  210-211. 

4.  Herndon,  114. 

5.  Lincoln,  1 1,  28-48. 

6.  Herndon,  306-308,  319;  Newton,  40-41. 

7.  Tarbell,  I,  209-210. 

8.  Herndon,  306. 

9.  Lamon,  334;  Herndon,  306;  N.  and  H.,  I,  297. 

VH.  The  Second  Start. 

1.  Herndon,  307,  319. 

2.  Herndon,  319-321. 

-3.  Herndon,  314-317. 

4.  Herndon,  332-333. 

5.  Herndon,  311-312. 

6.  Herndon,  319. 

7.  Lamon,  165. 

8.  Herndon,  309. 

9.  Herndon,  113-114;  Stories,  186. 

10.  Herndon,  338. 

11.  Lamon,  324. 

12.  Lincoln,  11,  142. 

13.  Herndon,  347. 

14.  Herndon,  363. 

15.  Herndon,  362. 

16.  Lincoln,  II,  172. 

17.  Lincoln,  H,  207. 

18.  Lincoln,  H,  173. 

19.  Lincoln,  II,  165. 


NOTES 

VIII.  A Return  to  Politics. 


439 


1.  Johnson,  234. 

2.  I have  permission  to  print  the  following  letter  from  the  Hon- 
orable John  H.  Marshall,  Judge  Fifth  Judicial  Circuit,  Charleston, 
Illinois : 

“Your  letter  of  the  24th  inst.  at  hand  referring  to  slave  trial  in 
which  Lincoln  was  interested,  referred  to  by  Professor  Henry  John- 
son. Twenty-five  years  ago,  while  I was  secretary  of  the  Coles  County 
Bar  Association,  a paper  was  read  to  the  Association  by  the  oldest 
member  concerning  the  trial  referred  to,  and  his  paper  was  filed  with 
me.  Some  years  ago  I spoke  of  the  matter  to  Professor  Johnson,  and 
at  the  time  was  unable  to  find  the  old  manuscript,  anti  decided  that 
the  same  had  been  inadvertently  destroyed.  However,  quite  recently 
I found  this  paper  crumpled  up  under  some  old  book  records.  The 
author  of  this  article  is  a reputable  member  of  the  bar  of  this  country 
of  very  advanced  age,  and  at  that  time  quoted  as  his  authority  well- 
known  and  very  substantial  men  of  the  county,  who  had  taken  an 
active  interest  in  the  litigation.  His  paper  referred  to  incidents  oc- 
curring in  1847,  and  there  is  now  no  living  person  with  any  knowledge 
of  it.  The  story  in  brief  is  as  follows: 

“In  1845,  General  Robert  Matson,  of  Kentucky,  being  hard  pressed 
financially,  in  order  to  keep  them  from  being  sold  in  payment  of  his 
debts,  brought  Jane  Bryant,  with  her  four  small  children  to  this  county. 
Her  husband,  Anthony  Bryant,  was  a free  negro,  and  a licensed  exhorter 
in  the  Methodist  Church  of  Kentucky.  But  his  wife  and  children  were 
slaves  of  Matson.  In  1847,  Matson,  determined  to  take  the  Bryants 
back  to  Kentucky  as  his  slaves,  caused  to  be  issued  by  a justice  of 
the  peace  of  the  county  a writ  directed  to  Jane  Bryant  and  her  chil- 
dren to  appear  before  him  forthwith  and  answer  the  claim  of  Robert 
Matson  that  their  service  was  due  to  him,  etc.  This  action  produced 
great  excitement  in  this  county.  Practically  the  entire  community 
divided,  largely  on  the  lines  of  pro-slavery  and  anti-slavery.  Usher 
F,  Linder,  the  most  eloquent  lawyer  in  this  vicinity,  appeared  for  Mat- 
son,  and  Orlando  B.  Ficklin,  twice  a member  of  Congress,  appeared 
for  the  negroes.  Under  the  practice  the  defendant  obtained  a hearing 
from  three  justices  instead  of  one,  and  a trial  ensued  lasting  several 
days,  and  attended  by  great  excitement.  Armed  men  made  demonstra- 
tions and  bloodshed  was  narrowly  averted.  Two  of  the  justices  were 
pro-slavery,  and  one  anti-slavery.  The  trial  was  held  in  Charleston. 
The  decision  of  the  justice  was  discreet.  It  was  held  that  the  court 


440 


NOTES 


had  no  jurisdiction  to  determine  the  right  of  property,  but  that  Jane 
and  her  children  were  of  African  descent  and  found  in  the  state  of 
Illinois  without  a certificate  of  freedom,  and  that  they  be  committed 
to  the  county  jail  to  be  advertised  and  sold  to  pay  the  jail  fees. 

“At  the  next  term  of  the  circuit  court,  Ficklin  obtained  an  order 
staying  proceedings  until  the  further  order  of  the  court.  Finally  when 
the  case  was  heard  in  the  circuit  court  Linder  and  Abraham  Lincoln 
appeared  for  Matson,  who  was  insisting  upon  the  execution  of  the 
judgment  of  the  three  justices  of  the  peace  so  that  he  could  buy  them 
at  the  proposed  sale,  and  Ficklin  and  Charles  Constable,  afterward 
a circuit  judge  of  this  circuit,  appeared  for  the  negroes.  The  judg- 
ment was  in  favor  of  the  negroes  and  they  were  discharged. 

“The  above  is  a much  abbreviated  account  of  this  occurrence, 
stripped  of  its  local  coloring,  giving  however  its  salient  points,  and 
I have  no  doubt  of  its  substantial  accuracy.” 

3.  Lincoln,  II,  185. 

4.  Lincoln,  II,  186. 

5.  Lamon,  347. 

6.  Lincoln,  II,  232-233. 

7.  Lincoln,  II,  190-262. 

8.  Lincoln,  274-277. 

IX,  The  Literary  Statesman. 

1.  Herndon,  371-372. 

2.  Lincoln,  II,  329-330. 

3.  Lincoln,  III,  1-2. 

4.  Herndon,  405-408. 

5.  Lincoln.  H,  279. 

6.  Lamon,  416. 

X,  The  Dark  Horse. 

1.  Lincoln,  V,  127. 

2.  Tarbell,  I,  335. 

3.  Lincoln,  V,  127,  138,  257-258. 

4.  Lincoln,  V,  290-291.  He  never  entirely  shook  off  his  erratic  use 
of  negatives.  See,  also,  Lamon,  424;  Tarbell,  I,  338. 

5.  Lincoln,  V,  293-328. 

6.  McClure,  23-29;  Field,  126,  137-138;  Tarbell,  I,  342-357. 


NOTES 


441 


XII.  The  Crisis. 


1.  Letters,  172. 

2.  Lincoln,  VI,  77,  78,  79,  93. 

3.  Bancroft,  II,  10;  Letters,  172. 

XIII.  Eclipse. 

1.  Bancroft,  II,  10;  Letters,  172. 

2.  Bancroft,  II,  9-10. 

3.  Herndon,  484. 

4.  McClure,  140-145;  Lincoln,  VI,  91,  97. 

5.  Recollections,  111. 

6.  Recollections,  121. 

7.  Recollections,  112-113;  Tarbell,  I,  404-405. 

8.  Tarbell,  I,  406. 

9.  Tarbell,  I,  406. 

10.  Lincoln,  VI,  92. 

11.  Tarbell,  I,  406. 

12.  Herndon,  483-484. 

13.  Lamon,  505;  see  also,  Herndon,  485-487. 

14.  I-incoln,  VI,  110. 

XIV.  The  Strange  New  Man. 

1.  Lincoln,  VI,  130. 

2.  Merriam,  I,  318. 

3.  Public  Man,  140. 

4.  Van  Santvoord. 

5.  N.  and  H.,  I,  36;  McClure,  179. 

6.  Herndon,  492. 

7.  Recollections,  39-41. 

8.  Lincoln,  VI,  162-164. 

9.  Bancroft,  II,  38-45. 

10.  Public  Man,  383. 

11.  Chittenden,  89-90. 

12.  Public  Man,  387. 

XV.  President  and  Premier. 


1.  Hay  MS,  I,  64. 

2.  Tyler,  II,  565-566. 


442 


NOTES 


3.  Bradford,  208;  Seward,  IV,  416. 

4.  Nicolay,  213. 

5.  Chase  offered  to  procure  a commission  for  Henry  Villard,  “by 
way  of  compliment  to  the  Cincinnati  Commercial/*  Villard,  I,  177. 

6.  N.  and  H.,  Ill,  333,  note  12. 

7.  Outbreak,  52. 

8.  Hay  MS,  I,  91;  Tyler,  II,  633;  Coleman,  I,  338. 

9.  Hay  MS,  I,  91 ; Riddle,  5;  Public  Man,  487. 

10.  Correspondence,  548-549. 

11.  See  Miss  Schrugham’s  monograph  for  much  important  data 
with  regard  to  this  moment.  Valuable  as  her  contribution  is,  I can  not 
feel  that  the  conclusions  invalidate  the  assumption  of  the  text. 

12.  Lincoln,  VI,  192-220. 

13.  Sherman,  I,  195-196. 

14.  Lincoln,  VI,  175-176.  ^ 

15.  127  O.  R.,  161. 

16.  Munford,  274;  Journal  of  the  Virginia  Convention,  1861. 

17.  Lincoln,  VI,  227-230. 

18.  N.  R.,  first  series,  IV,  227. 
fl9.  Hay  MS,  I,  143. 

*20.  The  great  authority  of  Mr.  Frederick  Bancroft  is  still  on  the 
side  of  the  older  interpretation  of  Sewartl's  Thoughts,  Bancroft,  II, 
Chap.  XXIX.  It  must  be  remembered  that  following  the  war  there 
was  a reaction  against  Seward.  When  Nicolay  and  Hay  published 
the  Thoughts  they  appeared  to  give  him  the  coup  de  grace.  Of  late 
years  it  has  almost  been  the  fashion  to  treat  him  contemptuousl3^ 
Even  Mr.  Bancroft  has  been  very  cautious  in  his  defense.  This  is 
not  the  place  to  discuss  his  genius  or  his  political  morals.  But  on  one 
thing  I insist.  Whatever  else  he  was — unscrupulous  or  what  you  will — 
he  was  not  a fool.  However  reckless,  at  times,  his  spread-eagleism 
there  was  shrewdness  behind  it.  The  idea  that  he  proposed  a ridicu- 
lous foreign  policy  at  a moment  when  all  his  other  actions  reveal 
coolness  and  calculation ; the  idea  that  he  proposed  it  merely  as  a 
spectacular  stroke  in  party  management;  this  is  too  much  to  believe. 
A motive  must  be  found  better  than  mere  chicanery. 

Furthermore,  if  there  was  one  fixed  purpose  in  Seward,  during 
March  and  early  April,  it  was  to  avoid  a domestic  conflict;  and  the 
only  way  he  could  see  to  accomplish  that  was  to  side-track  Montgom- 
ery’s expansive  all-Southern  policy.  Is  it  not  fair,  with  so  astute  a 
politician  as  Seward,  to  demand  in  explanation  of  any  of  his  moves 
She  uncovering  of  some  definite  political  force  he  was  playing  up  to? 


NOTES 


443 


The  old  interpretation  of  the  Thoughts  offers  no  force  to  which  they 
form  a response.  Especially  it  is  impossible  to  find  in  them  any  scheme 
to  get  around  Montgomery.  But  the  old  view  looked  upon  the  Virginia 
compromise  with  blind  eyes.  That  was  no  part  of  the  mental  prospect. 
In  accounting  for  Seward’s  purposes  it  did  not  exist.  But  the  mo- 
ment one’s  eyes  are  opened  to  its  significance,  especially  to  the  menace 
it  had  for  the  Montgomery  program,  is  not  the  entire  scene  trans- 
formed? Is  not,  under  these  new  conditions,  the  purpose  intimated 
in  the  text,  the  purpose  to  open  a new  field  of  exploitation  to  the 
Southern  expansionists  in  order  to  reconcile  them  to  the  Virginia 
scheme,  is  not  this  at  least  plausible?  And  it  escapes  making  Seward 
a fool. 

21.  Lincoln,  VI,  236-237. 

^ 22.  Welles,  I,  17. 

23.  There  is  still  lacking  a complete  unriddling  of  the  three- 
cornered  game  of  diplomacy  played  in  America  in  March  and  April, 
1861.  Of  the  three  participants  Richmond  is  the  most  fully  revealed. 
It  was  playing  desperately  for  a compromise,  any  sort  of  compromise, 
that  would  save  the  one  principle  of  state  sovereignty.  For  that, 
slavery  would  be  sacrificed,  or  at  least  allowed  to  be  put  in  jeopardy. 
Munford,  Virginia's  Attitude  toward  Slavery  and  Secession;  Tyler, 
Letters  and  Times  of  the  Tylers;  Journal  of  the  Virginia  Convention 
of  1861.  However,  practically  no  Virginian  would  put  himself  in  the 
position  of  forcing  any  Southern  State  to  abandon  slavery  against  its 
will.  Hence  the  Virginia  compromise  dealt  only  with  the  expansion 
of  slavery,  would  go  no  further  than  to  give  the  North  a veto  on  that 
expansion.  And  its  compensating  requirement  plainly  would  be  a 
virtual  demand  for  the  acknowledgment  of  state  sovereignty. 

Precisely  what  passed  between  Richmond  and  Washington  is  still 
something  of  a mystery.  John  Hay  quotes  Lincoln  as  saying  that  he 
twice  offered  to  evacuate  Sumter,  once  before  and  once  after  his 
inauguration,  if  the  Virginians  “would  break  up  their  convention  with- 
out any  row  or  nonsense.”  Hay  MS,  I,  91;  Thayer,  I,  118-119.  From 
other  sources  we  have  knowledge  of  at  least  two  conferences  subse- 
quent to  the  inauguration  and  probably  three.  One  of  the  conferences 
mentioned  by  Lincoln  seems  pretty  well  identified.  Coleman  II,  337-338. 
It  was  informal  and  may  be  set  aside  as  having  little  if  any  historic 
significance.  When  and  to  whom  Lincoln’s  second  offer  was  made  is 
not  fully  established.  Riddle  in  his  Recollections  says  that  he  was 
present  at  an  informal  interview  “with  loyal  delegates  of  the  Vir- 
ginia State  Convention,”  who  were  wholly  satisfied  with  Lincoln’s 


444 


NOTES 


position.  Riddle,  25.  Possibly,  this  was  the  second  conference  men- 
tioned by  Lincoln.  It  has  scarcely  a feature  in  common  with  the 
conference  of  April  4,  which  has  become  the  subject  of  acrimonious 
debate.  N.  and  H.,  Ill,  422-428;  Boutwell,  II,  62-67;  Bancroft,  II, 
102-104;  Munford,  270;  Southern  Historical  Papers,  I,  449;  Botts, 
195-201;  Crawford,  311;  Report  of  the  Joint  Committee  on  Recon- 
struction, first  session,  Thirty-Ninth  Congress;  Atlantic,  April,  1875. 
The  date  of  this  conference  is  variously  given  as  the  fourth,  fifth  and 
sixth  of  April.  Curiously  enough  Nicolay  and  Hay  seem  to  have  only 
an  external  knowledge  of  it;  their  account  is  made  up  from  documents 
and  lacks  entirely  the  authoritative  note.  They  do  not  refer  to  the 
passage  in  the  Hay  MS,  already  quoted. 

There  are  three  versions  of  the  interview  between  Lincoln  and 
Baldwin.  One  was  given  by  Baldwin  himself  before  the  Committee 
on  Reconstruction  some  five  years  after;  one  comprises  the  recollec- 
tions of  Colonel  Dabney,  to  whom  Baldwin  narrated  the  incident  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  war;  a third  is  in  the  recollections  of  John  Minor 
Botts  of  a conversation  with  Lincoln  April  7,  1862.  No  two  of  the 
versions  entirely  agree.  Baldwin  insists  that  Lincoln  made  no  offer 
of  any  sort;  while  Botts  in  his  testimony  before  the  Committee  on 
Reconstruction  says  that  Lincoln  told  him  that  he  had  told  Baldwin 
that  he  was  so  anxious  “for  the  preservation  of  the  peace  of  this  coun- 
try and  to  save  Virginia  and  the  other  Border  States  from  going 
out  that  (he  would)  take  the  responsibility  of  evacuating  Fort  Sumter, 
and  take  the  chances  of  negotiating  with  the  Cotton  States.”  Baldwin’s 
language  before  the  committee  is  a little  curious  and  has  been  thought 
disingenuous.  Boutwell,  I,  66.  However,  practically  no  one  in  this 
connection  has  considered  the  passage  in  the  Hay  MS  or  the  state- 
ment in  Riddle.  Putting  these  together  and  remembering  the  general 
situation  of  the  first  week  of  April  there  arises  a very  plausible  argu- 
ment for  accepting  the  main  fact  in  Baldwin’s  version  of  his  confer- 
ence and  concluding  that  Botts  either  misunderstood  Lincoln  (as  Bald- 
win says  he  did)  or  got  the  matter  twisted  in  memory.  A further 
bit  of  plausibility  is  the  guess  that  Lincoln  talked  with  Botts  not  only 
of  the  interview  with  Baldwin  but  also  of  the  earlier  interview  men- 
tioned by  Riddle  and  that  the  two  became  confused  in  recollection. 

To  venture  on  an  assumption  harmonizing  these  confusions.  When 
Lincoln  came  to  Washington,  being  still  in  his  delusion  that  slavery 
was  the  issue  and  therefore  that  the  crisis  was  “artificial,”  he  was 
willing  to  make  almost  any  concession,  and  freely  offered  to  evacuate 
Sumter  if  thereby  he  could  induce  Virginia  to  drop  the  subject  of  seces- 


NOTES 


445 


sion.  Even  later,  when  he  was  beginning  to  appreciate  the  real  sig- 
nificance of  the  moment,  he  was  still  willing  to  evacuate  Sumter  if 
the  issue  would  not  be  pushed  further  in  the  Border  States,  that  is, 
if  Virginia  would  not  demand  a definite  concession  of  the  right  of 
secession.  Up  to  this  point  I can  not  think  that  he  had  taken  seriously 
Seward’s  proposed  convention  of  the  States  and  the  general  discussion 
of  permanent  Federal  relations  that  would  be  bound  to  ensue.  But 
now  he  makes  his  fateful  discovery  that  the  issue  is  not  slavery  but 
sovereignty.  He  sees  that  Virginia  is  in  dead  earnest  on  this  issue 
and  that  a general  convention  will  necessarily  involve  a final  discussion 
of  sovereignty  in  the  United  States  and  that  the  price  of  the  Virginia 
Amendment  will  be  the  concession  of  the  right  of  secession.  On  this 
assumption  it  is  hardly  conceivable  that  he  offered  to  evacuate  Sumter 
as  late  as  the  fourth  of  April.  The  significance  therefore  of  the  Bald- 
win interview  would  consist  in  finally  convincing  Lincoln  that  he  could 
not  effect  any  compromise  without  conceding  the  principle  of  state 
sovereignty.  As  this  was  the  one  thing  he  was  resolved  never  to  con- 
cede there  was  nothing  left  him  but  to  consider  what  course  would 
most  strategically  renounce  compromise.  Therefore,  when  it  was  known 
at  Washington  a day  or  two  later  that  Fort  Pickens  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  being  taken  by  the  Confederates  (see  note  24),  Lincoln  in- 
stantly concentrated  all  his  energies  on  the  relief  of  Sumter.  All 
along  he  had  believed  that  one  of  the  forts  must  be  held  for  the  pur- 
pose of  “a  clear  indication  of  policy,”  even  if  the  other  should  be 
given  up  “as  a military  necessity.”  Lincoln,  VI,  301.  His  purpose, 
therefore,  in  deciding  on  the  ostentatious  demonstration  toward  Sum- 
ter was  to  give  notice  to  the  whole  country  that  he  made  no  conces- 
sions on  the  matter  of  sovereignty.  In  a way  it  was  his  answer  to 
the  Virginia  compromise. 

At  last  the  Union  party  in  Virginia  sent  a delegation  to  confer 
with  Lincoln.  It  did  not  arrive  until  Sumter  had  been  fired  upon. 
Lincoln  read  to  them  a prepared  statement  of  policy  which  announced 
his  resolution  to  make  war,  if  necessary,  to  assert  the  national  sov- 
ereignty. Lincoln,  VI,  243-245. 

The  part  of  Montgomery  in  this  tangled  episode  is  least  under- 
stood of  the  three.  With  Washington,  Montgomery  had  no  official 
communication.  Both  Lincoln  and  Seward  refused  to  recognize  com- 
missioners of  the  Confederate  government.  Whether  Seward  as  an 
individual  went  behind  the  back  of  himself  as  an  official  and  per- 
sonally deceived  the  commissioners  is  a problem  of  his  personal 
biography  and  his  private  morals  that  has  no  place  in  this  discussion. 


446 


NOTES 


Between  Montgomery  and  Richmond  there  was  intimate  and  cordial 
communication  from  the  start.  At  first  Montgomery  appears  to  have 
taken  for  granted  that  the  Secessionist  party  at  Richmond  was  so 
powerful  that  there  was  little  need  for  the  new  government  to  do  any- 
thing but  wait.  But  a surprise  was  in  store  for  it.  During  February 
and  March  its  agents  reported  a wide-spread  desire  in  the  South  to 
compromise  on  pretty  nearly  any  terms  that  would  not  surrender  the 
central  Southern  idea  of  state  sovereignty.  Thus  an  illusion  of  that 
day — as  of  this — was  exploded,  namely  the  irresistibility  of  economic 
solidarity.  Sentimental  and  constitutional  forces  were  proving  more 
powerful  than  economics.  Thereupon  Montgomery’s  problem  was 
transformed.  Its  purpose  was  to  build  a Southern  nation  and  it  had 
believed  hitherto  that  economic  forces  had  put  into  its  hands  the  neces- 
sary tools.  Now  it  must  throw  them  aside  and  get  possession  of  others. 
It  must  evoke  those  sentimental  and  constitutional  forces  that  so  many 
rash  statesmen  have  always  considered  negligible.  Consequently,  for 
the  South  no  less  than  for  the  North,  the  issue  was  speedily  shifted 
from  slavery  to  sovereignty.  Just  how  this  was  brought  about  we  do 
not  yet  know.  Whether  altogether  through  foresight  and  statesmanlike 
deliberation,  or  in  part  at  least  through  what  might  almost  be  called 
accidental  influences,  is  still  a little  uncertain.  The  question  narrows 
itself  to  this:  why  was  Sumter  fired  upon  precisely  when  it  was? 
There  are  at  least  three  possible  answers. 

(1)  That  the  firing  was  dictated  purely  by  military  necessity.  A 
belief  that  Lincoln  intended  to  reinforce  as  well  as  to  supply  Sumter, 
that  if  not  taken  now  it  could  never  be  taken,  may  have  been  the  over- 
mastering idea  in  the  Confederate  Cabinet.  The  reports  of  the  Com- 
missioners at  Washington  were  tinged  throughout  by  the  belief  that 
Seward  and  Lincoln  were  both  double-dealers.  Beauregard,  in  com- 
mand at  Charleston,  reported  that  pilots  had  come  in  from  the  sea  and 
told  him  of  Federal  war-ships  sighted  off  the  Carolina  coast.  1 O.  R. 
297,  300,  301,  304,  305. 

(2)  A political  motive  which  to-day  is  not  so  generally  intelligible 
as  once  it  was,  had  great  weight  in  1861.  This  was  the  sense  of  honor 
in  politics.  Those  historians  who  brush  it  aside  as  a figment  lack 
historical  psychology.  It  is  possible  that  both  Governor  Pickens  and 
the  Confederate  Cabinet  were  animated  first  of  all  by  the  belief  that 
the  honor  of  South  Carolina  required  them  to  withstand  the  attempt  of 
what  they  held  to  be  an  alien  power. 

(3)  And  yet,  neither  of  these  explanations,  however  much  either 
or  both  may  have  counted  for  in  many  minds,  gives  a convincing  ex- 


NOTES 


447 


planation  of  the  agitation  of  Toombs  in  the  Cabinet  council  which  de- 
cided to  fire  upon  Sumter.  Neither  of  these  could  well  be  matters  of 
debate.  Everybody  had  to  be  either  for  or  against,  and  that  would  be 
an  end.  The  Toombs  of  that  day  was  a different  man  from  the  Toombs 
of  three  months  earlier.  Some  radical  change  had  taken  place  in  his 
thought.  What  could  it  have  been  if  it  was  not  the  perception  that  the 
Virginia  program  had  put  the  whole  matter  in  a new  light,  that  the 
issue  had  indeed  been  changed  from  slavery  to  sovereignty,  and  that 
to  join  battle  on  the  latter  issue  was  a far  more  serious  matter  than  to 
join  battle  on  the  former.  And  if  Toombs  reasoned  in  this  fearful 
way,  it  is  easy  to  believe  that  the  more  buoyant  natures  in  that  council 
may  well  have  reasoned  in  precisely  the  opposite  way.  Virginia  had 
lifted  the  Southern  cause  to  its  highest  plane.  But  there  was  danger 
that  the  Virginia  compromise  might  prevail.  If  that  should  happen 
these  enthusiasts  for  a separate  Southern  nationality  might  find  all 
their  work  undone  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Virginians  who  shared  Mont- 
gomery’s enthusiasms  had  seen  this  before  then.  That  was  why  Roger 
Pryor,  for  example,  had  gone  to  Charleston  as  a volunteer  missionary. 
In  a speech  to  a Charleston  crowd  he  besought  them,  as  a way  of 
precipitating  Virginia  into  the  lists,  to  strike  blow.  Charleston  Mercury, 
April  11,  1861. 

The  only  way  to  get  any  clue  to  these  diplomatic  tangles  is  by 
discarding  the  old  notion  that  there  were  but  two  political  ideals  clash- 
ing together  in  America  in  1861.  There  were  three.  The  Virginians 
with  their  devotion  to  the  idea  of  a league  of  nations  in  this  country 
were  scarcely  further  away  from  Lincoln  and  his  conception  of  a 
Federal  unit  than  they  were  from  those  Southerners  who  from  one 
cause  or  another  were  possessed  with  the  desire  to  create  a separate 
Southern  nation.  The  Virginia  program  was  as  deadly  to  one  as  to 
the  other  of  these  two  forces  which  with  the  upper  South  made  up  the 
triangle  of  the  day.  The  real  event  of  March,  1861,  was  the  percep- 
tion both  by  Washington  and  Montgomery  that  the  Virginia  program 
spelled  ruin  for  its  own.  By  the  middle  of  April  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say  which  had  the  better  reason  to  desire  the  defeat  of  that  pro- 
gram, Washington  or  Montgomery. 

24.  Lincoln,  VI,  240,  301,  302;  N.  R.,  first  series,  IV,  109,  235, 
238-239;  Welles,  I,  16,  22-23,  25;  Bancroft,  II,  127,  129-130,  138,  139, 
144;  N.  and  H.,  Ill,  Chap.  XI,  IV,  Chap.  I.  Enemies  of  Lincoln  have 
accused  him  of  bad  faith  with  regard  to  the  relief  of  Fort  Pickens. 
The  facts  appear  to  be  as  follows:  In  January,  1861,  when  Fort 
Pickens  was  in  danger  of  being  seized  by  the  forces  of  the  State  of 


448 


NOTES 


Florida,  Buchanan  ordered  a naval  expedition  to  proceed  to  its  re- 
lief. Shortly  afterward — January  29 — Senator  Mallory  on  behalf  of 
Florida  persuaded  him  to  order  the  relief  expedition  not  to  land  any 
troops  so  long  as  the  Florida  forces  refrained  from  attacking  the 
fort.  This  understanding  between  Buchanan  and  Mallory  is  some- 
times called  “the  Pickens  truce,”  sometimes  “the  Pickens  Armistice.” 
N.  and  H.,  Ill,  Chap.  XI;  N.  R.,  first  series,  I,  74;  Scott,  II,  624-625. 
The  new  Administration  had  no  definite  knowledge  of  it.  Lincoln, 
VI,  302.  Lincoln  despatched  a messenger  to  the  relief  expedition, 
which  was  still  hovering  off  the  Florida  coast,  and  ordered  its  troops 
to  be  landed.  The  commander  replied  that  he  felt  bound  by  the  pre- 
vious orders  which  had  been  issued  in  the  name  of  the  Secretary  of  the 
Navy  while  the  new  orders  issued  from  the  Department  of  War;  he 
added  that  relieving  Pickens  would  produce  war  and  wished  to  be 
sure  that  such  was  the  President’s  intention;  he  also  informed  Lin- 
coln’s messenger  of  the  terms  of  Buchanan’s  agreement  with  Mallory, 
The  messenger  returned  to  Washington  for  ampler  instructions.  N. 
and  H.,  IV,  Chap.  I;  N.  R.,  first  series,  I,  109-110,  110-111. 

Two  days  before  his  arrival  at  Washington  alarming  news  from 
Charleston  brought  Lincoln  very  nearly,  if  not  quite,  to  the  point  of 
issuing  sailing  orders  to  the  Sumter  expedition.  Lincoln,  VI,  240.  A 
day  later,  Welles  issued  such  orders.  N.  R.,  first  series,  I,  235;  Ban- 
croft, II,  138-139.  On  April  sixth,  the  Pickens  messenger  returned 
to  Washington.  N.  and  H.,  IV,  7.  Lincoln  was  now  in  full  posses- 
sion of  all  the  facts.  In  his  own  words,  “To  now  reinforce  Fort 
Pickens  before  a crisis  would  be  reached  at  Fort  Sumter  was  impos- 
sible, rendered  so  by  the  exhaustion  of  provisions  at  the  latter  named 
fort.  . . . The  strongest  anticipated  case  for  using  it  (the  Sumter  ex- 
pedition) was  now  presented,  and  it  was  resolved  to  send  it  forward.” 
Lincoln,  VI,  302.  He  also  issued  peremptory  orders  for  the  Pickens 
expedition  to  land  its  forces — which  was  done  April  twelfth.  N.  R., 
first  series,  I,  110-111,  115.  How  he  reasoned  upon  the  question  of 
a moral  obligation  devolving,  or  not  devolving,  upon  himself  as  a con- 
sequence of  the  Buchanan-Mallory  agreement,  he  did  not  make  pub- 
lic. The  fact  of  the  agreement  was  published  in  the  first  message.  But 
when  Congress  demanded  information  on  the  subject,  Lincoln  trans- 
mitted to  it  a report  from  Welles  declining  to  submit  the  information 
on  account  of  the  state  of  the  country.  1 O.  R.,  440-441. 

25.  Lincoln,  VI,  241. 


NOTES 


449 


XVI.  On  to  Richmond. 

1.  May  MS,  I.  23. 

2.  N.  and  H.,  IV,  152. 

3.  Hay  MS,  I,  45. 

4.  Hay  MS,  I,  46. 

5.  Hay  MS,  I,  54-56. 

6.  Sherman,  I,  199. 

7.  Nicolay,  213. 

8.  N.  and  H.,  IV,  322-323,  360. 

9.  Bigelow,  I,  360. 

10.  Nicolay,  229. 

11.  Lincoln,  VI,  331-333. 

12.  Own  Story,  55,  82. 

XVH.  Defining  the  Issue. 

1.  Lincoln,  VI,  297-325. 

2.  Lincoln,  X,  199. 

3.  Lincoln,  X,  202-203. 

4.  Lincoln,  VI,  321. 

5.  Lincoln,  VI  I,  56-57. 

6.  Bancroft,  II,  121 ; Southern  Historical  Papers,  I,  446. 

7.  Lincoln,  VI,  304. 

8.  Hay  MS,  I,  65. 

9.  Lincoln,  VI,  315. 

10.  39  Globe,  I,  222;  N.  and  H.,  IV,  379. 

XVH  I.  The  Jacobin  Club. 

1.  White,  171. 

2.  Riddle,  46-52. 

3.  Harris,  62. 

4.  Public  Man,  139. 

5.  37  Globe,  HI,  1334. 

6.  Chandler,  253. 

7.  White,  171. 

8.  Conway,  II,  336. 

9.  Conway,  II,  329. 

10.  Rhodes,  III,  350. 

11.  Lincoln,  VI,  351. 

12.  Hay  MS,  I,  93. 


450 


NOTES 


13.  Hay  MS,  I,  93. 

14.  Bigelow,  I,  400. 

15.  Chandler,  256. 

XIX.  The  Jacobins  Become  Inquisitors. 

1.  Lincoln,  VII,  28-60. 

2.  Nicolay,  321. 

3.  C.  W.,  I,  3,  66. 

4.  Julian,  201. 

5.  Chandler,  228. 

6.  37  Globe,  II,  189-191;  Lincoln,  VII,  151-152;  5 O.  R.,  341-346; 
114  O.  R.,  786,  797;  C.  W.,  I,  5,  74,  79;  Battles  and  Leaders,  II,  132-134; 
Blaine,  I,  383-384,  392-393;  Pearson,  I,  312-313;  Chandler,  222;  Por- 
ter. 

7.  Swinton,  79-85,  quoting  General  McDowell’s  memoranda  of 
their  proceedings. 

8.  37  Globe,  II,  15. 

9.  Riddle,  296;  Wade,  316;  Chandler,  187. 

10.  C.  W.,  I,  74. 

11.  37  Globe,  II,  1667. 

12.  37  Globe,  II,  1662-1668,  1732-1742. 

13.  Lincoln,  VII,  151-152. 

XX.  Is  Congress  the  President’s  Master. 

1.  37  Globe,  II,  67. 

2.  Rhodes,  III,  350. 

3.  37  Globe,  II,  3328. 

4.  37  Globe,  II,  2764. 

5.  37  Globe,  II,  2734. 

6.  37  Globe  II,  2972-2973. 

7.  37  Globe,  II,  440. 

8.  37  Globe,  II,  1136-1139. 

9.  Quoting  7 Howard,  43-46. 

XXI.  The  Struggle  to  Control  the  Army. 

1.  N.  and  H.,  IV,  444. 

2.  Own  Story,  84. 

3.  Own  Story,  85. 

4.  Gurowski,  123. 


NOTES 


451 


5.  Hay  MS,  I,  99;  Thayer,  I,  125. 

6.  N.  and  H.,  IV,  469. 

7.  Hay  MS,  I,  93. 

8.  5 O.  R.,  41. 

9.  Swinton,  79-84;  C.  W.,  I,  270. 

10.  C.  W.,  I,  270,  360,  387 ; Hay  MS,  II,  101. 

11.  Gorham,  I,  347-348;  Kelly,  34. 

12.  Chandler,  228;  Julian,  205. 

13.  Hay  MS,  I,  101 ; 5 O.  R.,  18. 

14.  5 O.  R.,  50. 

15.  5 O.  R.,  54-55 ; Julian,  205. 

16.  Hay  MS,  I,  103. 

17.  Hitchcock,  439. 

18.  Hitchcock,  440.  The  italics  are  his. 

19.  5 O.  R.,  58. 

20.  5 O.  R.,  59. 

21.  5 O.  R.,  63. 

22.  Own  Story,  226;  5 O.  R.,  18. 

23.  C.  W.,  I,  251-252. 

24.  C.  W.,  I,  251-253,  317-318. 

25.  15  O.  R.,  220;  Hitchcock,  439,  note. 

26.  14  O.  R.,  66. 

27.  12  O.  R.,  61. 

28.  17  O.  R.,  219. 

29.  Rhodes,  IV,  19. 

30.  Nicolay,  306;  McClure,  168. 

31.  17  O.  R.,  435. 

32.  Julian,  218. 

33.  N.  and  H.,  V,  453. 

34.  Lincoln,  VII,  266-267. 

35.  37  Globe,  II,  3386-3392. 

XXII.  Lincoln  Emerges. 

1.  Alexander,  III,  15-17. 

2.  37  Globe,  II,  1493. 

3.  Julian,  215;  Conway,  I,  344. 

4.  37  Globe,  II,  2363. 

5.  Lincoln,  VII,  171-172. 

6.  37  Globe,  II,  1138. 

7.  Lincoln,  VII,  172-173. 

8.  Pierce,  IV,  78;  37  Globe,  II,  2596. 


452 


NOTES 


9.  Schurz,  I,  187. 

10.  London  Times,  May  9,  1862,  quoted  in  American  papers. 

11.  128  O.  R.,  2-3. 

12.  Lincoln,  VII,  270-274. 

13.  Carpenter,  20-21. 

14.  Galaxy,  XIV,  842-843. 

15.  Lincoln,  VII,  276-277;  37  Globe,  II,  3322-3324,  3333. 

16.  Julian,  220;  37  Globe,  II,  3286-3287. 

17.  Lincoln,  VII,  280-286. 

XXIII.  The  Mystical  Statesman. 

1.  Carpenter,  189. 

2.  Recollections,  161. 

3.  Recollections,  161-164;  Carpenter,  116-119. 

4.  Carpenter,  116. 

5.  Carpenter,  90. 

6.  Chapman,  449-450. 

7.  Carpenter,  187. 

8.  Lincoln,  VIII,  52-53. 

9.  Lincoln,  VIII,  50-51. 

XXIV.  Gambling  in  Generals, 

1.  Reminiscences,  434. 

2.  Recollections,  261. 

3.  Galaxy,  842. 

4.  Galaxy,  845. 

5.  Carpenter,  22. 

6.  12  O.  R.,  80-81. 

7.  C.  W.,  I,  282. 

8.  Lincoln,  VIII,  15. 

9.  Julian,  221. 

10.  Thayer,  I,  127. 

11.  Welles,  I,  104;  Nicolay,  313. 

12.  Thayer,  I,  129. 

13.  Thayer,  I,  161. 

14.  Reminiscences,  334-335,  528;  Tarbell,  II,  118-120;  Lincoln,  VIII, 
28-33. 

15.  Chase,  87-88. 

16.  Lincoln,  VII,  36-40. 


NOTES 


453 


XXV.  A War  behind  the  Scenes. 

1.  Bigelow,  I,  572. 

2.  37  Globe,  III,  6. 

3.  37  Globe,  III,  76. 

4.  Lincoln,  VII,  57-60. 

5.  Lincoln,  VII,  73. 

6.  Swinton,  231. 

7.  C.  W.,  I,  650. 

8.  Bancroft,  II,  365;  Welles,  I,  198. 

9.  N.  and  H.,  VI,  265. 

10.  Welles,  I,  205;  Alexander,  III,  185. 

11.  Welles,  I,  196-198. 

12.  Welles,  I,  201-202. 

13.  Welles,  I,  200. 

14.  Lincoln,  VII,  195-197. 

XXVI.  The  Dictator,  the  Marplot  and  the  Little  Men. 

1.  Harris,  64. 

2.  Gurowski,  312. 

3.  Sherman  Letters,  167. 

4.  Julian,  223. 

5.  Recollections,  215;  Barnes,  428;  Reminiscences,  XXXI,  XXXII, 
XXXVIII.  Nicolay  and  Hay  allude  to  this  story,  but  apparently  doubt 
its  authenticity.  They  think  that  Weed  “as  is  customary  with  elderly 
men  exaggerated  the  definiteness  of  the  proposition.” 

6.  Julian^  225. 

7.  Lincoln,  VIII,  154. 

8.  Raymond,  704. 

9.  Recollections,  193-194. 

10.  Lincoln,  VIII,  206-207. 

11.  37  Globe,  III,  1068. 

12.  Riddle,  278. 

13.  Welles,  I,  336. 

• 14.  Lincoln,  VIII,  235-237. 

15.  Welles,  I,  293. 

16.  Lincoln,  VIII,  527. 

17.  Lincoln,  IX,  3-4. 

18.  Lincoln,  VIII,  307-308. 

19.  Barnes,  428;  Reminiscences,  XXX,  XXXIII-XXXVIII. 


454 


NOTES 


This  story  is  told  on  the  authority  of  Weed  with  much  circum- 
stantial detail  including  the  full  text  of  a letter  written  by  McClellan. 
The  letter  was  produced  because  McClellan  had  said  that  no  negotia- 
tions took  place.  Though  the  letter  plainly  alludes  to  negotiations  of 
some  sort,  it  does  not  mention  the  specific  offer  attributed  to  Lincoln. 
Nicolay  and  Hay  are  silent  on  the  subject.  See  also  note  five,  above. 

20.  Tribune,  July  7,  1863. 

21.  Tribune,  July  6,  1863. 

22.  Lincoln,  IX,  17. 

23.  Lincoln,  IX,  20-21. 

XXVII.  The  Tribune  of  the  People. 

1.  Rhodes,  III,  461 ; Motley’s  Letters,  II,  146. 

2.  Reminiscences,  470. 

3.  Hay,  Century. 

4.  Carpenter,  281-282. 

5.  Van  Santvoord. 

6.  Play,  Century,  35. 

7.  Carpenter,  150. 

8.  Recollections,  97. 

9.  Recollections,  80. 

10.  Carpenter,  65. 

11.  Carpenter,  65-67. 

12.  Carpenter,  64. 

13.  Recollections,  267. 

14.  Carpenter,  64. 

15.  Recollections,  83-84. 

16.  Carpenter,  152. 

17.  Carpenter,  219. 

18.  Recollections,  103-105. 

19.  Lincoln,  X,  274-275. 

20.  Recollections,  103. 

21.  Recollections,  95-96. 

22.  Hay,  Century. 

23.  Rankin,  177-179. 

24.  Hay,  Century,  35. 

25.  Carpenter. 

26.  Thayer,  I,  198-199. 

27.  Thayer,  I,  196-197. 

28.  Thayer,  I,  199-200. 


NOTES 


455 


29.  Carpenter,  104. 

30.  Lincoln,  VIII,  112-115. 

31.  Lincoln,  IX,  210. 

XXVIII.  Apparent  Ascendency. 

1.  Lincoln,  IX,  284. 

2.  Lincoln,  IX,  219-221. 

3.  Lincoln,  X,  38-39. 

4.  38  Globe,  I,  1408. 

5.  Bancroft,  II,  429-430;  Moore,  VI,  497-498. 

6.  Grant,  II,  123. 

7.  Lincoln,  X,  90-91. 

XXIX.  Catastrophe. 


1.  Nicolay,  440. 

2.  Carpenter,  130;  Hay  MS. 

3.  Nicolay,  440. 

4.  Lincoln,  X,  25-26. 

5.  37  Globe,  II,  2674. 

6.  Nicolay,  352. 

7.  Lincoln,  X,  49. 

8.  Lincoln,  X,  50-54. 

9.  Rankin,  381-387;  Hay,  Century. 

10.  Carpenter,  217. 

11.  Carpenter,  81. 

12.  Carpenter,  218. 

13.  Hay,  Century,  37. 

14.  Lincoln,  X,  89. 

15.  Carpenter,  131. 

16.  Lincoln,  X,  122-123. 

17.  Carpenter.  168-169. 

18.  Carpenter,  30-31. 

19.  Lincoln,  X,  129. 

XXX.  The  President  versus  THE  Vindictives. 

1.  Lincoln,  X,  139-140. 

2.  Chittenden,  379. 

3.  Lincoln,  X,  140-141. 

4.  Carpenter,  181-183. 

5.  N.  and  H.,  X,  95-100. 


4S6 


NOTES 


6.  Hay  MS,  I,  16-17;  N.  and  H.,  IX,  120-121. 

XXXI.  A Menacing  Pause. 

1.  Reminiscences,  398. 

2.  Globe,  I,  3148. 

3.  Riddle,  254. 

4.  Greeley,  II,  664-666. 

5.  N.  and  H.,  186-190. 

6.  Gilmore,  240. 

7.  Gilmore,  Atlantic. 

8.  Gilmore,  243-244. 

9.  Hay  MS,  I,  76-77  \ N.  and  H.,  167-173;  Carpenter,  301-302. 

10.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  338-339. 

11.  Carpenter,  223-225. 

12.  Carpenter,  282;  also,  N.  and  H.,  IX,  364. 

13.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  188. 

14.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  192. 

15.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  195. 

16.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  212,  note. 

17.  Lincoln,  X,  164-166. 

XXXII.  The  August  Conspiracy. 

1.  Julian,  247. 

2.  Times,  August  1,  1864. 

3.  Herald,  August  6,  1864. 

4.  Sun,  June  30,  1889. 

5.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  250. 

6.  N.  and  H,  IX,  218. 

7.  Times,  August  18,  1864. 

8.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  196-197. 

9.  Herald,  August  18,  1864. 

10.  Lincoln,  X,  308. 

11.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  250. 

12.  Lincoln,  X,  203-204. 

13.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  221. 

14.  Ibid. 

15.  Herald,  August  26,  1864. 

16.  Tribune,  August  27,  1864. 

17.  Times,  August  26,  1864. 


NOTES 


457 


XXXIII.  The  Rally  to  the  President. 

1.  Herald,  August  24,  1864. 

2.  Times,  August  26,  1864. 

3.  Pierce,  IV,  197-198. 

4.  Pearson,  II,  150-151. 

5.  Herald,  August  23,  1864. 

6.  Pearson,  II,  168. 

7.  Ibid.  The  terms  offered  Davis  were  not  stated  in  the  Atlantic 
article.  See  Gilmore,  289-290. 

8.  Tribune,  August  27,  1864. 

9.  Sun,  June  30,  1889. 

10.  Sun,  June  30,  1889;  Pearson,  II,  160-161. 

11.  Pearson,  II,  164. 

12.  Pearson,  II,  166. 

13.  Sun,  June  30,  1889. 

14.  Tribune,  August  30,  1864. 

15.  Pearson,  II,  162. 

16.  Tribune,  September  3,  1864. 

17.  Pearson,  II,  165. 

18.  Sun,  June  30,  1889. 

19.  Pearson,  II,  167;  Tribune,  September  7,  1864. 

20.  Tribune,  September  6,  1864. 

21.  Sun,  June  30,  1889. 

22.  Tribune,  September  9,  1864. 

23.  Tribune,  September  7,  1864. 

24.  Tribune,  September  12,  1864. 

25.  Tribune,  September  22,  1864. 

XXXIV.  “Father  Abraham.” 

1.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  339. 

2.  Ibid. 

3.  Arnold,  390. 

4.  Chandler,  274-276. 

5.  The  familiar  version  of  the  retirement  of  Blair  is  contained 
in  the  Life  of  Chandler  issued  by  the  Detroit  Post  and  Tribune  with- 
out an  author's  name.  This  book  throughout  is  an  apology  for  Chand- 
ler. In  substance  its  story  of  this  episode  is  as  follows:  Chandler 
beheld  with  aching  heart  the  estrangement  between  Lincoln  and  Wade; 
he  set  to  work  to  bring  them  together;  at  a conference  which  he  had 


458 


NOTES 


with  Wade,  in  Ohio,  a working  understanding  was  effected;  Chandler 
hurried  to  Washington ; with  infinite  pains  he  accomplished  a party 
deal,  the  three  elements  of  which  were  Lincoln’s  removal  of  Blair,  Fre- 
mont’s resignation,  and  Wade’s  appearance  in  the  Administration 
ranks.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  physical  facts  of  this  narrative, 
its  mental  facts,  its  tone  and  atmosphere,  are  historical  fiction.  And 
I have  to  protest  that  the  significance  of  the  episode  has  been  greatly 
exaggerated.  The  series  of  dates  given  in  the  text  can  not  be  recon- 
ciled with  any  theory  which  makes  the  turn  of  the  tide  toward  Lin- 
coln at  all  dependent  on  a Blair-Fremont  deal.  Speaking  of  the  tradi- 
tion that  Chandler  called  upon  Lincoln  and  made  a definite  agree- 
ment with  him  looking  toward  the  removal  of  Blair,  Colonel  W.  O. 
Stoddard  writes  me  that  his  “opinion,  or  half  memory,  would  be  that 
the  tradition  is  a myth.”  See  also,  Welles,  II,  156-158. 

6.  Lincoln,  X,  228-229. 

7.  Times,  September  24,  1864. 

8.  Times,  September  28,  1864. 

9.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  364. 

10.  Thayer,  II,  214;  Hay  MS. 

11.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  377. 

12.  Thayer,  II,  216;  Hay  MS,  III,  29. 

13.  Lincoln,  X,  261. 

14.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  378-379. 

XXXV.  The  Master  of  the  Moment. 

1.  Lincoln,  X,  283. 

2.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  392-394. 

3.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  210-211. 

4.  One  of  the  traditions  that  has  grown  up  around  Lincoln 
makes  the  passage  of  the  Thirteenth  Amendment  a matter  of  threats. 
Two  votes  were  needed.  It  was  discovered  according  to  this  simple- 
minded  bit  of  art  that  two  members  of  the  opposition  had  been  guilty 
of  illegal  practices,  the  precise  nature  of  which  is  conveniently  left 
vague.  Lincoln,  even  in  some  highly  reputable  biographies,  sent  for 
these  secret  criminals,  told  them  that  the  power  of  the  President  of 
the  United  States  was  very  great,  and  that  he  expected  them  to  vote 
for  the  amendment.  The  authority  for  the  story  appears  to  be  a mem- 
ber of  Congress,  John  B.  Aley.  Reminiscences,  585-586;  Lord  Charn- 
wood,  Abraham  Lincoln,  335-336.  To  a great  many  minds  it  has  al- 
ways seemed  out  of  key.  Fortunately,  there  is  a rival  version.  Shrewd, 
careful  Riddle  has  a vastly  different  tale  in  which  Lincoln  does  not 


NOTES 


459 


figure  at  all,  in  which  three  necessary  votes  were  bought  for  the 
amendment  by  Ashley.  Riddle  is  so  careful  to  make  plain  just  what 
he  can  vouch  for  and  just  what  he  has  at  second  hand  that  his  mere 
mode  of  narration  creates  confidence.  Riddle,  324-325.  Parts  of  his 
version  are  to  be  found  in  various  places. 

5.  Nicolay,  Cambridge,  601. 

6.  Lincoln,  X,  38-39,  and  note;  XI,  89. 

7.  38  Globe,  II,  903. 

8.  38  Globe,  II,  1127. 

9.  38  Globe,  II,  1129;  Pierce,  IV,  221-227. 

10.  Recollections,  249. 

11.  Nicolay,  503-504;  Lincoln,  XI,  43. 

12.  Lincoln,  XI,  44-46. 

XXXVI.  Preparing  a Different  War. 

1.  Grant,  II,  459. 

2.  Tarbell,  II,  229. 

3.  N.  and  H.,  IX,  457. 

4.  Pierce,  IV,  236. 

5.  Lincoln,  XI,  84-91. 

XXXVII.  Fate  Interposes. 

1.  Tarbell,  II,  231-232. 

2.  Pierce,  IV,  235. 

3.  Tarbell,  II,  232. 

4.  Recollections,  116. 

5.  Nicolay,  531. 

6.  N.  and  H.,  X,  283-284. 

7.  Julian,  255. 

8.  Recollections,  249. 

9.  Recollections,  119. 

10.  Nicolay,  532. 

11.  Recollections,  119-120;  Carpenter,  293;  Nicolay,  532;  Tarbell, 
II,  235. 

12.  Nicolay,  539. 

13.  Thayer,  II,  219;  Hay  MS. 

14.  Riddle,  332. 

15.  Nicolay,  530. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abolitionists,  The,  248,  281 ; early  tendencies,  31,  32 ; principles  of, 
142. 

Adams,  Charles  Francis,  131,  288. 

Address  to  the  voters  of  Sangamon  County,  Lincoln’s,  135. 
iEsop,  Lincoln’s  love  of,  7,  13. 

“Ancient,”  The,  324. 

Andrew:  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  130,  206;  and  Lincoln,  382. 
Anglo-Saxon,  1. 

Antietam  Creek,  276,  277. 

Arkansas,  secession  of,  167. 

Army  Board,  The,  233. 

Army  of  Virginia,  given  to  Pope,  271. 

Baker,  Senator  from  Oregon,  142,  193. 

Baldwin,  John  B.,  state  sovereignty,  163. 

Ball’s  Bluff  episode,  205. 

Battle  of  the  Wilderness,  The,  345. 

Bennett,  editor  of  the  New  York  Herald,  372. 

Bible,  The,  influence  on  Lincoln,  13. 

Bixby,  Mrs.,  letter  of  condolence  from  Lincoln,  321. 

Blair,  Montgomery:  149,  156,  283;  resignation,  389. 

Blair,  Montgomery,  Sr.,  Confederate  government,  398. 

Blenker,  General,  “foreign  legion,”  234. 

Blockade  of  Southern  Coast,  The,  158. 

Booth,  John  Wilkes,  421. 

Bowles,  Samuel,  128. 

Breckinridge,  John  C.,  104,  105. 

Bright,  John,  and  Sumner,  282. 

Brooks,  Noah:  and  Lincoln,  263;  and  Sumner,  83. 

Brown,  John:  95,  103;  massacre  of,  83. 

Browning,  Orville  Henry:  and  emancipation,  250;  in  Senate,  216;  and 
powers  of  Congress,  217  et  seq. 

Brownson,  248. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  95,  196. 

Buchanan,  President:  Mormon  War,  157;  secession,  120;  slavery  in 
Kansas,  84. 

Buckner,  General,  338. 

Bull  Run,  defeat  at,  174. 

Burns,  Robert,  influence  on  Lincoln,  25. 

463 


464  INDEX 

Burnside,  General:  defeat  at  Fredericksburg,  288;  Federal  Commander 
of  the  Department  of  the  Ohio,  303;  promoted,  287;  Vallandig- 
ham  episode,  306;  weakness,  299. 

Byron,  Lord,  65,  119. 

Cabinet,  The:  last  meeting  with  Lincoln,  418;  meeting  of  July  22,  ’62, 
269;  the  “on  to  Richmond”  dilemma,  172. 

Calhoun,  County  Surveyor,  25. 

Cameron,  Simon:  118,  135,  373;  Ball’s  Bluff  episode,  206;  character- 
ized, 202;  dismissal,  207;  minister  to  Russia,  207;  October  draft, 
392. 

Cannon,  Colonel,  and  Lincoln,  264. 

Carpenter,  Frank  B, : 316;  and  Lincoln,  341  et  seq.,  349. 

Cartwright,  Peter,  nominated  for  Congress  in  1846,  49. 

Cass,  Lewis,  54. 

Chancellorsville,  305. 

Chandler,  Zachary : 204 ; Blair’s  resignation,  391 ; Bull  Run  picnic, 
189;  conduct  of  the  War  Committee,  205;  first  clash  with  Lin- 
coln, 192 ; interferes  with  McClellan,  197 ; Michigan  Democrats, 
297 ; Reconstruction  Bill,  351. 

Chase,  Salmon  Portland:  135,  156;  boom,  336;  campaign  for  Chief 
Justice,  396;  Hooker,  301 ; resigns  from  Cabinet,  292,  348;  Seward’s 
resignation,  291  et  seq.;  Sumter,  149. 

Chicago  clergymen  visit  Lincoln,  276. 

Cincinnati  Gazette  and  Lincoln,  385. 

Cincinnati  Times  and  Lincoln,  385. 

Clary’s  Grove,  22. 

Clay,  C.  C.,  169. 

Clay,  Henry:  Lincoln’s  oration  on,  69,  70;  sovereignty,  184. 

Cleon,  179. 

Collyn,  Reverend  Robert,  269. 

Committee,  The  {See  Jacobins). 

Communities,  growth  of,  3. 

Compromise  of  1850,  72,  75. 

Conduct  of  War  Committee,  The,  205. 

Congress,  three  groups  of,  248. 

Congressional  Cabal,  The,  antagonism  for  Lincoln,  244. 

Congressional  Globe,  The,  216. 

Conklin,  Roscoe,  206. 

Conscription,  357. 

Cooper  Union:  82;  Lincoln’s  speech  at,  94,  185. 


INDEX  , 465 


“Copperhead,”  297. 

Council  of  Experts,  The:  234;  defense  of  Washington,  238. 

Council  of  Subordinates,  The,  234. 

Cox,  “Sunset,”  288. 

Cresswell,  General,  and  Lincoln,  419. 

Crittenden  and  resignation  of  Chase,  349. 

Crittenden  compromise:  112,  151,  157,  194;  laid  on  shelf,  207,  second 
resolution  passed  by  Congress,  187. 

Cromwell  compared  to  Lincoln,  267. 

Cropsey,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  and  Lincoln,  344. 

Cuba,  158. 

Cybele,  1. 

Davis,  David,  62 ; 68. 

Davis,  Henry  Winter,  and  Bill  on  Reconstruction,  332,  393. 

Davis,  Jefferson:  360;  emancipation,  398;  rejects  Gilmore’s  proposal, 
375. 

Democratic  Convention,  384. 

Democratic  Party,  break  in,  75,  90. 

Democrats : and  abolition,  33 ; Emancipation  Proclamation,  282 ; Lin- 
coln, 245;  two  policies  of,  298;  secession.  111;  weakness,  244. 
Dougherty,  Betsy  Ann,  episode,  and  Lincoln,  319. 

Douglas,  Frederick,  and  Lincoln,  338. 

Douglas,  Stephan  A.:  72,  104,  139;  break  with  Democrats,  84;  cam- 
paign of  ’54,  76;  contrasted  with  Lincoln,  73;  Kansas-Nebraska 
Bill,  75;  Lincoln,  72  et  seq.,  83,  as  his  political  rival,  84;  modes 
of  travel,  89;  as  orator  described  by  Harriett  Beecher  Stowe,  88; 
reelected  to  the  Senate,  90;  slavery,  75;  slavery  in  Kansas,  84. 
Dred  Scott  decision,  83. 

Dreyfus  case  of  the  Civil  War,  The,  209. 

Economic  conditions  in  early  ’fifties,  74. 

“Edward  Kirke.”  See  J.  R.  Gilmore. 

Elizabethtown,  Ky.,  3. 

Emancipation  as  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution,  398. 

Emancipation  Proclamation : confirmed,  294 ; published,  278  et  seq, 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo:  194,  248;  and  John  Brown  episode,  104. 
Enrollment  Act,  358. 


Fanuel  Hall,  Lincoln  rally  at,  386. 
Farms  of  pioneers,  3. 


466 


INDEX 


Fast  Day  Proclamation  of  1863 : 267 ; quoted,  304. 

Fessenden:  appointed  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  350;  powers  of  Com 
gress,  217. 

Field,  David  Dudley,  95,  372. 

First  Confiscation  Act:  194;  enforced  by  Lincoln,  248. 

First  Inaugural,  quoted  in  part,  137. 

Forbes,  J.  M.,  384. 

Ford’s  Theater,  420. 

Forest,  influence  on  pioneers,  1. 

Fort  Pickens,  relief  of,  164. 

Fort  Pillow,  massacre  at,  339. 

Fort  Sumter:  145;  fired  upon,  167. 

Fortress  Monroe,  base  of  attack  upon  Richmond,  232. 

Fredericksburg,  loss  of  life  at,  288. 

Fremont:  192,  194,  202,  343;  Mormon  War,  157;  nominated  by  Vin- 
dictives  for  President,  343;  “bureau  of  abolition,”  196;  resigna- 
tion,  391. 

Fry,  General,  356. 

Fugitive  Slave  Law:  76,  80,  99,  116;  enforced  in  loyal  States,  195;  in 
first  inaugural,  152;  and  Lincoln,  248. 

Georgia,  secessionists  in,  151. 

Gettysburg : Address,  329 ; victory  at,  310. 

Gilmore,  J.  R.,  peace  plan  of,  359  et  seq. 

Globe  Tavern,  Lincoln’s  first  home  after  marriage,  44. 

Goethe,  271. 

Goodwin,  Parke,  385. 

Grant,  Ulysses  S. : failure  at  Cold  Harbor,  347;  letter  from  Lincoln, 
310;  Lincoln,  334. 

Gray,  Asa,  343. 

Greeley,  Horace:  95,  113,  273,  347,  385;  as  editorialist,  110;  influence 
of,  110;  Canadian  venture,  358,  366  et  seq.;  proposes  armistice, 
374;  Rosecrans,  303;  secession,  109. 

Green,  Bowlin,  and  his  wife,  27. 

Grimes,  Senator,  189,  214; 

Gulf  States:  proposal  of,  142;  secede,  120. 

Haber,  Michael,  333. 

Hahn,  Governor,  402. 

Halleck,  General:  318,  362;  arrives  in  Washington,  270;  made  General- 
in-Chief,  2451 


INDEX 


467, 


Hampton  Roads  Conference  and  peace  terms,  399  et  seq. 

Hanks,  Joseph,  3. 

Hanks,  Nancy:  3;  education,  4;  religious  fervor,  6. 

Harper’s  Ferry  episode,  95. 

Harrisburg,  Lincoln’s  speech  at,  133. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  and  Lincoln,  313. 

Hay,  John:  16,  169,  349;  and  Lincoln,  324. 

Henderson,  arrest  of,  379. 

Herndon,  William  H. : 46,  68,  69,  119,  174,  261,  characterized  by  Lin- 
coln, 30;  description  of  Lincoln  as  orator,  86;  separation  from  Lin- 
coln, 122. 

Hickman,  Congressman,  219. 

Hitchcock,  General:  becomes  confidential  adviser  for  War  Office,  233; 
and  McClellan,  235. 

Hooker,  General:  and  Burnside,  299;  failure,  305;  made  head  of  the 
army  of  the  Potomac,  302;  resigns,  310. 

House  of  Representatives,  The:  and  Emancipation  Proclamation,  284; 

refuses  seats  to  Representatives  from  Arkansas,  348. 

Hunter,  General,  an)!  emancipation,  248. 

Inquisition  and  General  Stone,  206. 

Jackson,  Andrew:  179,  409;  campaign,  239;  at  Chancellorsville,  305. 
Jacobin  Club,  The,  197. 

Jacobins,  The:  200  et  seq.;  212,  234;  army  of  the  Potomac,  229;  char- 
acterized, 201 ; collapse,  281  et  seq ; emancipation,  247 ; Hooker, 
301 ; McClellan,  222 ; policy  of,  247 ; Seward,  288. 

Jaquess,  Colonel,  plans  for  peace,  359  et  seq. 

“Jim  Lane,”  168. 

Julian:  297,  303;  second  Confiscation  Bill,  256. 

Kansas,  abolition  and  slavery  in,  83. 

Kansas-Nebraska  Bill : 83 ; Douglas,  75 ; Lincoln,  76. 

Keene,  Laura,  420. 

Kentucky,  3. 

Kossuth  and  Hungary’s  attempted  independence,  106. 

Lamon,  Ward  Hill:  67,  417;  and  Lincoln,  301. 

Lawrence,  sack  of,  83. 

Lee,  Robert  E. : 240;  at  Chancellorsville,  305;  retreat  of,  277;  sur- 
render of,  409. 


468 


INDEX 


Libby  prison,  407. 

Liberals,  European,  253. 

Lincoln,  Abraham : abolition,  69 ; accepts  partnership  with  Stephen  T. 
Logan,  46;  accused  of  being  an  infidel,  49;  address  to  the  voters 
of  Sangamon  County,  135;  adopts  emancipation  policy,  255;  all- 
parties administration,  297 ; all-party  program,  246 ; announces 
Emancipation  Proclamation  to  Cabinet,  277 ; answer  to  Greeley, 
273 ; appoints  military  governors,  252 ; arguments  against  slavery, 
77-79;  Arkansas  situation,  348;  army  of  the  Potomac,  230;  Ashley, 
320;  as  Congressman,  30;  lawyer,  63;  store-keeper  with  Denton 
Offut,  20;  story-teller,  11,  17,  64;  assassination,  421;  assistant 
County  Surveyor,  25 ; at  front,  407 ; attempt  on  his  life,  318 ; belief 
in  immortality,  266;  besieged  by  office  seekers,  144;  bids  Herndon 
good-by,  122;  bill  to  emancipate  slaves  in  District  of  Columbia, 
52;  birth,  5;  Blair’s  resigination,  390;  Border  States,  255;  burlesque 
of  Lewis  Cass,  54;  buys  copy  of  Blackstone,  24;  call  for  an  army, 
167;  campaign  dilemma,  99  et  seq.;  campaign  for  Senate,  80; 
capital  and  labor,  204 ; Chase  boom,  337 ; Chase  resignation,  293, 
349;  Chicago  clergymen,  276;  and  children,  324;  clerk  of  elections 
at  New  Salem,  23;  compared  to  Hamlet,  212;  conflict  with  Con- 
gress, 186;  Cooper  Union  speech,  185;  Crittenden  Compromise, 
113;  defense  of  Bull  Run,  174;  defeated  in  campaign  for  Senate, 
81;  defense  of  Washington,  237;  democracy,  134;  Democrats,  298; 
described  by  Carpenter,  342;  despatch  to  McClellan,  quoted,  285; 
Diana  story,  9;  dictum  of,  70;  domestic  life,  65;  and  Douglas,  72 
et  seq.,  83,  contrasted  with,  72,  debate  with  at  Peoria,  78-80,  86; 
political  rival  of,  84 ; dream  of  assassination,  417 ; duel  with  Jack 
Armstrong,  22;  early  books,  13;  early  earnings,  13;  early  life  in 
Kentucky,  5-10;  early  schooling,  9;  and  Edwin  Stanton,  208;  effect 
of  Presidency  on  his  religion,  263 ; elected  to  Congress,  51 ; election 
to  Legislature  in  1834,  25;  Emancipation  Bill,  256;  engagement  to 
Mary  Todd,  37-39;  as  fable  maker,  326;  failure  to  understand 
South,  114;  fame  as  orator,  82;  a fatalist,  119;  and  Fessenden, 
350;  fifth  message  to  Congress,  396;  first  inaugural,  137;  first 
'mistake,  132;  first  proclamation  emancipation  stopped  by  Seward, 
270;  first  message  to  Congress,  178;  first  proposed  conference 
with  Grant,  405 ; first  political  speech  quoted,  21 ; and  Fort  Pillow 
massacre,  339;  and  Frederick  Douglas,  338;  friendship  with  Rev- 
erend P.  D.  Gurley,  266;  with  Seward,  289;  with  Speed,  36-41; 
Fugitive  Slave  Law,  76,  80,  116;  geniality,  22;  Gettysburg  Address, 
329;  Government  of  Louisiana,  402  et  seq.\  and  Grant,  334;  great- 


INDEX 


469 


cst  achievement,  395 ; and  Greeley’s  Canadian  venture,  306 ; growth 
in  statecraft,  177;  and  Horatio  Seymour,  298;  humor,  319  ct  seq.; 
Hunter’s  proclamation,  249;  at  Inaugural  Ball  in  1849,  55;  inaugu- 
ration, 138;  incident  of  fawn,  7;  individualism  vs.  nationalism, 
182;  influence  of  Jefferson,  317;  of  religion,  6;  of  Seward,  137, 
140  et  seq. ; intellectual  awakening,  32 ; and  Jacobin  Club,  197 ; 
joins  Washington  society,  48;  Kansas-Nebraska  Bill,  76;  last 
campaign,  392;  last  days,  415;  last  meeting  with  Cabinet,  418;  law 
office  with  Herndon,  63;  the  lawyer,  46;  leaves  home,  19  j letter 
to  Boston  committee,  92 ; letter  of  condolence  to  Mrs.  Bixby, 
quoted,  321 ; letter  to  English  working  men,  294 ; letter  to  U.  S. 
Grant,  311;  letter  to  Hooker,  302;  licensed  to  practise  law,  35; 
loses  senatorship  to  foil  Douglas,  89;  love  for  Ann  Rutledge,  26; 
love  for  Artemus  Warti,  269 ; love  for  stepmother,  12 ; and  Mc- 
Clellan, 224,  his  war  tactics,  228;  a manager  of  men,  29;  married 
life,  44;  marriage  to  Mary  Todd,  43;  meeting  with  Joshua  Speed, 
35;  with  Seward,  134;  misreads  Southern  mind,  103;  mode  of 
travel,  89;  moves  to  Indiana,  9;  to  Springfield,  35;  to  Sangamon 
River,  19;  mysticism,  8,  262  et  seq.;  nationalism,  177  et  seq.;  na- 
tional government  and  abolition,  34;  negotiations  with  Confederate 
Government,  399;  nominated  for  Congress,  49;  nominated  for 
President,  97;  offered  governorship  of  Oregon  Territory,  56;  offers 
compensated  emancipation,  250 ; on  circuit  court,  61  et  seq. ; “On 
to  Richmond”  dilemma,  170  et  seq.;  oration  on  death  of  Henry 
Clay,  69;  oratory  of  ’54,  82;  described  by  Herndon,  86,  135;  part- 
nership with  Berry,  53;  passion  for  reading,  13;  Peoria  speech, 
185 ; periods  of  melancholy,  91 ; personal  eccentricities,  129-31 ; 
personal  habits,  333;  personal  safety,  317  et  seq.;  physical  descrip- 
tion of,  44;  pliability,  68;  plot  to  assassinate,  132;  policy  with 
South,  150;  political  intrigues,  118;  as  political  strategist,  89; 
political  suicide,  55;  as  postmaster  of  New  Salem,  26;  and  prayer, 
266;  preservation  of  Union,  116;  presidential  campaign,  93-97; 
“The  President’s  Policy,”  320;  presidential  offer  to  McClellan,  309; 
powers  of  President,  246,  307  et  seq.;  problem  of  reelection,  377; 
Proclamation  of  Amnesty  and  reconstruction,  331 ; proposed  duel 
with  James  Shields,  43;  recommends  Chase  for  Chief  Justice,  397; 
Reconstruction  Bill,  251 ; refusal  of  Lee’s  first  proposal,  405 ; re- 
fuses to  call  negro  troops,  193;  reinstatement  of  Seceded  States, 
412 ; removal  of  Illinois  capital  to  Springfield,  31 ; renominated, 
344;  religion,  261  et  seq.;  reply  to  “Thoughts,”  159;  on  reparation, 
279;  rivalry  with  Douglas,  72;  Second  Confiscation  Bill,  256;  sec- 


470 


INDEX 


ond  inaugural,  405;  second  message  to  Congress,  201*203;  quoted, 
326  et  seq. ; secret  of  his  success,  313-315 ; serenity,  242 ; seven 
terms  for  peace,  361 ; Seward’s  resignation  from  Cabinet,  290 
et  seq.  I slavery,  19;  early  efforts  against,  32;  a social  failure  in 
Washington,  129;  speech  accepting  Republican  nomination  to  Sen- 
ate, 85;  speech  at  Cooper’s  Union,  82,  95;  speech  at  Harrisburg, 
133;  speech  after  Lee’s  surrender,  410  et  seq.;  speech  at  Sanitary 
Fair,  346;  leaves  Springfield  for  Washington,  speech,  122;  speech 
on  reelection,  394;  speech  at  Republican  Convention  at  Springfield, 
83;  Stanton,  355  et  seq.;  as  statesman,  127  et  seq.;  a stoic,  8;  a 
story-teller  in  Congress,  56;  supported  by  Sumner,  198;  tariff,  his 
mistakes,  101;  theology,  264;  three  proposals  to  South,  116;  trip 
to  New  Orleans,  14;  Vallantiigham  episode,  306  et  seq.;  “war 
powers,”  213;  Washington  in  1848,  54,  128;  Whig,  30;  writ  of 
habeas  corpus,  280;  writings  of,  136;  youth  of,  11-18. 

Lincoln,  Mordecai,  4. 

Lincoln,  Nancy  Hanks,  death  and  burial  of,  12, 

Lincoln,  Robert,  420. 

Lincoln,  Sarah  Bush,  12. 

Lincoln,  Tad,  324. 

Lincoln,  Thomas:  ancestry  and  birth,  4;  marries  Nancy  Hanks,  5; 
second  marriage,  12. 

Lincoln,  Willie,  death  of,  227. 

Little  Men,  See  Democrats. 

Logan,  Stephen  T.,  and  partnership  with  Lincoln,  45,  62. 

London  Times,  173. 

Louisiana,  government  of,  401  et  seq.,  411  et  seq. 

Lowell,  James  Russell:  and  Lincoln,  313;  “The  President’s  Policy,”  330. 

McClellan,  George  Brinton : 130,  197 ; characterized,  221 ; defense  of 
Washington,  238;  in  command  of  Washington  forces,  275;  con- 
sidered for  Democratic  candidate,  385 ; demoted,  231 ; and  Doug- 
las, 88 ; failure,  242 ; as  a general,  225 ; commands  Union  Army, 
175;  and  Hitchcock,  235;  illness  of,  206;  and  Jacobins,  222,  228, 
278;  and  Lincoln,  224;  and  presidential  offer,  309;  promenade  to 
Manassas,  231 ; withdraws  from  Peninsula,  271. 

McDowell,  General  Irwin:  172;  failure,  175. 

Manassas:  172;  excavation  of,  231. 

Mason,  seizure,  198. 

Matteson  (Douglas  candidate),  81. 

“Meditation  on  the  Divine  Will,”  Lincoln’s,  226. 


INDEX 


471 


Mexican  War,  52. 

Military  governors  appointed,  252. 

Missouri  Compromise,  79,  80,  112. 

Monroe  Doctrine,  158. 

Montgomery,  strategic  position  of,  166. 

Mormon  War,  157. 

Morton,  Oliver  P.,  373. 

Motley  and  Lincoln,  314. 

Napoleon  III:  96;  and  Mexico,  158,  333. 

Nat  Turner  Rebellion,  103. 

Nature,  influence  of  on  pioneers,  1. 

Negro  suffrage,  402. 

New  Salem,  111.,  20. 

New  York,  a “free  city,”  168. 

New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church,  266. 

New  York  Convention,  387. 

New  York  Times:  171,  370;  and  Lincoln’s  reelection,  378. 

New  York  Tribune,  171,  273,  370. 

Nicolay,  John,  16,  324. 

North  American  Review,  330. 

North  Carolina  and  secession,  151,  167. 

“Oh,  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal  be  Proud,”  91. 

Ohio  demands  reelection  of  Lincoln,  335. 

“Old  Man,  The,”  324. 

Ordinance  of  Secession,  163. 

Orsino,  96. 

Owens,  Mary,  Lincoln’s  courtship  of,  37. 

Paine,  47. 

Peck,  Ebenezer,  390. 

Pendleton  and  presidential  powers,  310. 

Peoria,  Lincoln’s  speech  at,  78,  185. 

“Perpetuation  of  Our  Free  Institutions,”  Lincoln’s  speech,  48. 
Personal  Liberty  Laws,  116. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  199,  213,  248,  343. 

Pickens  expedition,  165. 

Pilgrim’s  Progress,  13. 

Pioneers,  1 et  seq. 

Political  conditions  in  1860,  98  et  seq. 


472 


INDEX 


Political  platforms  of  1860,  104. 

Pomeroy,  Senator,  336. 

Poore,  Ben  Perley,  52. 

Pope,  John:  commands  army  of  Virginia,  271  et  seq.;  downfall,  274. 

“Prayer  of  20,000,000,  The,”  273. 

Proclamation  of  Amnesty  and  Reconstruction,  331. 

Rationalism,  47. 

Raymond,  Henry  W. : and  General  Hooker,  209,  373;  peace  proposals, 
375  et  seq. 

Reconstruction  Bill,  351. 

Republican  Club  of  New  York,  148. 

Republican  Convention  of  1860,  96-97,  344. 

Republican  Party,  foundation  of,  83. 

Republicans  and  tariff  of  1857,  100. 

Rhett,  Robert  Barnwell,  and  secession,  106-108,  110. 

Richmond,  fall  of,  407. 

Riddle,  Congressman,  188. 

Robespierre,  179. 

Robinson  Crusoe^  7,  13. 

Rosecrans,  303. 

Rutledge,  Ann,  engagement  to  Lincoln  and  death,  26. 

5".  5^.  Powhatan  and  Sumter  expedition,  165. 

San  Domingo  rebellion,  158. 

Schurz,  Carl,  252. 

Scott,  General:  121,  138,  154,  168,  169,  172,  175;  and  Sumter,  148. 

Second  Confiscation  Bill,  256. 

Senate:  and  Emancipation  Proclamation,  284;  Louisiana  government, 
403. 

Senate  Judiciary  Committee,  204. 

Seventh  New  York  regiment  comes  to  Washington,  170. 

• Seward:  94,  96,  105,  106,  109,  112,  132,  168,  174,  255;  characterized,  141; 
evacuation  of  Sumter,  154  et  seq.;  first  Emancipation  Proclamation, 
270;  friendship  with  Lincoln,  289;  influence  on^  Lincoln,  137,  140 
et  seq.;  and  Jacobins,  28^;  meets  Lincoln,  134;  and  Mexico,  158 
modifies  Lincoln’s  three  proposals,  116; 'oil  on  waters  of  1860,  111;* 
policy  about  Sumter,  146,  148;  preservation  of  Union,  148;  pro- 
posed blockade  of  Southern  Coast,  158;  resigns  from  Cabinet,  289 
et  seq.;  as  Secretary  of  State,  140  et  seq.;  “Thoughts  for  the 
President’s  Consideration,”  156. 


INDfiX 


473 


Seymour,  Horatio,  298,  303,  310. 

Shakespeare : 65 ; influence  on  Lincoln,  25. 

Sherman,  John:  150,  246,  297;  and  Atlanta,  386. 

Sherman,  W.  T.,  150. 

Shields,  James,  43. 

Slavery:  financed  by  the  East,  74;  partisans  in  Illinois,  32. 

Slidel,  capture  of,  198. 

Smith,  Garret,  248. 

Soldiers’  Home,  Lincoln’s  country  place,  364. 

South:  attitude  toward  abolition,  100;  toward  slavery,  100;  colored 
troops,  338;  nationalism,  153;  solidarity  shaken,  150;  and  tariff, 
101. 

South  Carolina;  and  evacuation  of  Sumter,  147;  secession  of,  108. 
Southern  Confederacy,  plans  for,  115. 

Spain  and  San  Domingo,  158. 

Speed,  Joshua  F.,  meeting  with  Lincoln,  35. 

Springfield,  Illinois,  capital  moved  to,  31. 

Stanton,  Edward  M.:  207  et  seq.,  269;  appeal  for  militia,  240;  assumes 
uties  of  Commanding  General,  232;  closes  recruiting  offices,  254; 
and  General  Stone,  208 ; and  Lincoln,  355  et  seq. 

Steele,  General,  348. 

Stephens,  Alexander  H.,  399. 

Stevens,  Thaddeus:  212;  and  powers  of  Congress,  215. 

Stone,  General:  and  Ball’s  Bluff  Episode,  206;  imprisoned,  208. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  description  of  Douglas’s  oratory,  88. 

Sumner:  94,  131,  133;  and  Louisiana  government,  404;  political  am- 
bitions, 381;  powers  of  Congress,  215;  Seceded  States,  411;  in  the 
Senate,  83;  support  of  Lincoln,  198. 

Swett,  62. 

Taney,  Chief  Justice:  138;  death  of,  376. 

Tariff  in  1857,  100. 

Tennessee,  secession  of,  167. 

Terms  of  Peace,  399. 

Thirteenth  Amendment,  408  et  seq. 

Thirty-seventh  Congress,  256. 

Tilton,  385. 

Todd,  Mary:  characterised,  45;  education,  38;  and  Lincoln,  37,  38. 
Toombs,  Robert,  167. 

Trumbull,  Lyman:  81,  204;  and  Bull  Run  picnic,  189;  and  Louisiana 
government,  403;  and  Lincoln,  401;  and  powers  of  Congress,  214; 
and  Second  Confiscation  Bill,  256. 


474 


INDEX 


f 


Union  Convention  proposed,  372. 

Union  League  of  Philadelphia,  389. 

Vallandigham  episode,  The,  306,  356  et  seq, 

Vandalia,  Illinois,  capital  removed,  31. 

Vicksburg,  surrender  of,  310. 

Vindictives,  The:  196;  actions  on  summer  of  1864,  372;  convention  of 
Cleveland,  343;  Fessenden  appointment  to  Secretary  of  Treasury, 
351;  and  Louisiana  government,  403  et  seq.',  nominate  Fremont 
for  President,  343;  Proclamation  of  Amnesty,  331.  See  Jacobins. 
Vinton,  Reverend  Francis,  and  Lincoln,  263. 

Virginia:  3;  pre-war  division  of,  147;  secession,  151,  167;  and  state 
rights,  183. 

Virginia  Compromise,  151  et  seq.,  156,  157,  162. 

Virginia  Convention,  147. 

Virginia  Unionists,  163. 

Volney,  47. 

Von  Clause witz,  286. 

Wade,  Benjamin:  204,  214;  and  Bull  Run  picnic,  189;  conduct  of  War 
Committee,  208;  joins  Lincoln,  388;  and  Louisiana  government, 
403;  and  Mormon  War,  157;  and  Second  Confiscation  Bill,  257. 
Wade-Davis  Manifesto,  369  et  seq. 

Wadsworth,  General,  Commander  for  Washington,  236. 

Wakarusa  River,  war  of,  83. 

Washburne,  373. 

Washington:  during  early  war  days,  168;  in  the  ’forties,  56;  invaded, 
361 ; society,  48. 

Webster,  Daniel,  and  sovereignty,  184. 

Weed,  Thurlow,  112  et  seq.,  159,  298. 

Welles,  Gideon:  255,  292;  characterized,  160  et  seq.;  and  Pope’s  failure, 
275. 

Whigs  and  abolition,  34,  99. 

Whitman,  Walt,  and  Lincoln7^14. 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  on  secession,  143. 

Wilkes,  Captain,  198. 

Wilmot  Proviso,  52. 

Wilson,  Henry,  188,  390. 


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